MARGARET  MORTON  POTTER 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT 


• 


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1 


Istar  of  Babylon 


P&antasp 


BY 


MARGARET  HORTON  POTTER 

A  UTHOR  OF  "THE  HOUSE  OF  DE  MA  ILLY" 


II 
II 
II 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS 
NEW    YORK  AND    LONDON  1902 


Copyright,  1902,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


All  rights  reserved. 
Published  September,  1902. 


Rs 

353  / 
8  53 ,' 


TO 
MY    HUSBAND    AND    DEAR    COMRADE 

JOHN  DONALD  BLACK 


939834 


CONTENTS 


ffioofc  fl 

THE    JOURNEY 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  SEA 3 

II.  THE  Vow 21 

III.  INTO  THE  EAST 43 

IV.  ASHTORETH       .      .      , 62 

V.  To  THE  GATE  OF  GOD 79 


L  THE  A-lBUR-SABU 101 

II.  THE  SANCTUARY  OF  ISTAR 119 

III.  A  BABYLONISH  HOUSEHOLD 137 

IV.  BELSHAZZAR 156 

V.  THE  JEW 176 

VI.  ISTAR  OF  ERECH 191 

VII.  LORD  RIBATA'S  GARDEN 207 

VIII.  BABA 228 

IX.  BABYLON  BY  NIGHT 248 

X.  THE  ANGER  OF  BEL 268 

XI.  FROM  THE  HOUSE  OF  HEAVEN  ....        .    .  292 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XII.  ^GIBI  &  SONS 309 

XIII.  THE  RAB-MAG 327 

XIV.  STRANGE  GODS 350 

XV.  SIPPAR 366 

XVI.  BELTI-SHAR-UZZUR 385 

XVII.  THE  WOMAN'S  WOE 405 

XVIII.  THE  FEAST  OF  TAMMUZ 420 

XIX.  THE  REGIMENT  OF  GUTI. 441 

XX.  PESTILENCE 455 

XXI.  KURUSH  THE  KING 472 

XXII.  AT  THE  GATE 483 

XXIII.  THE  SILVER  SKY 490 


PREFACE 

"THE  higher  ideas,  my  dear  friend,  can  hardly 
be  set  forth  except  through  the  medium  of  examples; 
every  man  seems  to  know  all  things  in  a  kind  of  dream, 
and  then  again  to  know  nothing  when  he  wakes.  .  .  . 
But  people  seem  to  forget  that  some  things  have  sen 
sible  images,  which  may  be  easily  shown  when  any 
one  desires  to  exhibit  any  of  them  or  explain  them 
to  an  inquirer,  without  any  trouble  or  argument; 
while  the  greatest  and  noblest  truths  have  no  out 
ward  image  of  themselves  visible  to  man  which  he 
who  wishes  to  satisfy  the  longing  soul  of  the  inquirer 
can  adapt  to  the  eye  of  sense,  and  therefore  we  ought 
to  practise  ourselves  in  the  idea  of  them ;  for  immaterial 
things,  which  are  the  highest  and  greatest,  are  shown 
only  in  thought  and  idea,  and  in  no  other  way,  and 
all  that  we  are  saying  is  said  for  the  sake  of  them."* 

"Then  reflect  .  .  .  that  the  soul  is  in  the  very  like 
ness  of  the  divine,  and  immortal  and  intelligible  and 
uniform  and  unchangeable;  and  the  body  is  in  the 
very  likeness  of  the  human,  and  mortal  and  unintelli 
gible  and  multiform  and  dissoluble  and  changeable. 

"And  were  we  not  saying  long  ago  that  the  soul, 
when  using  the  body  as  an  instrument  of  perception, 
...  is  then  dragged  by  the  body  into  the  region  of  the 
changeable,  and  wanders  and  is  confused;  the  world 
spins  round  her,  and  she  is  like  a  drunkard  when 
under  their  influence. 

, 

*Jowett's  translation  of  Plato's  Statesman,  vol.  iii.,  pp,  562, 


viii  PREFACE 

"But  when,  returning  unto  herself,  she  reflects, 
then  she  passes  into  the  realm  of  purity  and  eternity 
and  immortality  and  unchangeableness,  which  are 
her  kindred;  .  .  .  then  she  ceases  from  erring  ways, 
and,  being  in  communion  with  the  unchanging,  is 
unchanging."* 

*  Jowett's  translation  of  Plato's  Phaedo,  vol.  i.,  pp.  407,  408. 


LIBRI    PERSONS 


fl 


THERON:  A  citizen  of  the  Doric  town  of  Selinous 
in  Sicily.  The  father  of  Charmides. 

HERAIA:     The  wife  of  Theron,  and  mother  of  Char 

mides. 

PHALARIS  :     An  athlete;  the  elder  brother  of  Charmides. 
CHARMIDES  :     A  young  Greek  rhapsode,  who,  hearing 

a  story  of  the  living  goddess,  Istar  of  Babylon, 

becomes  inspired  with  the  desire  to  see  and 

worship  her,  and  sets  out  from  Selinous  to 

journey  to  Babylon. 
KABIR:     A   Phoenician    trader,   shiptcrecked   off   the 

harbor   of   Selinous,    ivith   whom   Charmides 

travels  as  far  as  Tyre. 

ABDOSIR  :     The  brother  of  Kabir,  a  citizen  of  Tyre. 

HODO:  A  Babylonian  trader,  head  of  a  caravan 
travelling  between  Babylon  and  Tyre,  with 
ivhom  Charmides  goes  from  Tyre  to  the  Great 
City. 

ALLARAINE  :  The  archetype  of  song  ;  once  a  com 
panion  spirit  of  Istar  of  Babylon. 


x  LIBRI    PERSONS 

Booh  HIT 

1STAR:  The  archetype  of  womanhood,  made  mortal 
as  a  punishment  for  having  doubted  the  mercy 
of  God.  She  became  incarnate  in  Babylon, 
and  was  worshipped  there  as  the  famous  Baby 
lonian  goddess  "  I star,"  though  her  archetypal 
name  was  "  Narahmouna." 

NABONIDUS:  Or  "Nabu-Nahtd,  last  native  king 
of  Babylon,  through  his  mother  a  grandson 
of  Nebuchadrezzar.  He  reigned  from  B.  C. 
555-538,  when  Babylon  fell  to  Cyrus  the  Great. 

BELSHAZZAR:  Or  Belti-shar-uzzur ,  son  of  Naboni- 
dus,  and  governor  of  Babylon.  He  was  never 
proclaimed  king  of  Babylon. 

BELITSUM :  The  second  queen  of  Nabonidus ;  a 
woman  of  plebeian  origin. 

CYRUS :  The  Great,  conqueror  of  Media,  Persia,  and 
Elam,  to  whom  Babylon  fell  by  treachery. 

CAMBYSES  :  The  elder  son  of  Cyrus,  who,  after  him, 
became  king  of  Babylon.  He  afterwards  com 
mitted  suicide  in  Egypt,  on  being  accused  of 
the  murder  of  his  brother. 

BARDIYA:  The  younger  son  of  Cyrus,  afterwards 
murdered  by  his  brother,  Cambyses. 

GOBRYAS:  Cyrus'  general:  the  conqueror  of  Sippar; 
once  governor  of  Gutium  under  the  king  of 
Babylon. 

LORD  RlBATA  BlT-SHUMUKIN :  A  royal  councillor 
of  Nabonidus,  a  member  of  the  prince's  suite, 
and  the  intimate  companion  of  Belshazzar: 
also  landlord  of  the  tenement  of  Ut. 


LIBRI    PERSONS  xi 

DANIEL :  The  Hebrew  prophet,  also  called  Beltishazzar , 
who,  after  the  death  of  Xebuchadrezzar,  lost  his 
position  at  court,  and  at  the  time  of  the  fall  of 
Babylon  was  living  in  a  small  house  in  the 
Jewish  quarter. 

AMRAPHEL:  The  high-priest  of  Babylon,  and  priest 
of  Bel;  a  traitor  to  the  crown. 

VUL-RAMAN  OF  BlT-YAKIN :  Priest  of  Nebo  and 
Nergal,  and  second  in  power  to  Amraphel. 

LUDAR :  President  of  the  college  of  priests  at  Sippar, 
and  high -priest  of  the  temple  of  Shamash. 
A.  traitor  to  the  crown. 

NANA-BABILft :  Governor  of  Sippar.  Loyal  to  Na- 
bonidus. 

BUNANITU :  A  Jewess,  the  head  of  the  historic  bank 
ing-firm  of  "  Egibi." 

KALNEA :     A  Jew,  the  son  of  Bunanitfi. 
KABTIYA:     The  son  of  Kalnea,  a  Jewish  boy. 

BELTANI :  A  Babylonish  widow  of  the  lower  class, 
living  in  the  tenement  of  Ut.  The  mother 
of  Ramfia  and  Baba. 

RAMt^A :  A  floiver-girl,  the  daughter  of  Beltani,  after 
wards  married  to  Charmides. 

BABA:  Younger  daughter  of  Beltani,  afterwards  the 
slave  of  Lord  Rihata. 

BAZUZU  :     Beltani 's  negro  slave. 

ZOR:     Baba's  pet  goat. 

HODO:     The  Babylonish  trader. 

CHARMIDES:     The  Greek  rhapsode. 

ALLARAINE:     The  archetype  of  song. 


PROLOGUE 

THE     INCARNATION 

THRONGED  in  Uranian  mists,  all  the  archtype  spirits 
of  heaven, 

Gathered  in  slow-firing  wrath  against  one  of  their 
natural  number, 

Watched  her  who,  first  of  them  all  since  Jehovah 
created  their  order, 

Daring  the  Almighty  ire,  did  forget  her  transcen 
dence  for  man. 

Wonder  divine  o'er  the  sorrow  and  sin  of  the  earth- 
condemned  races 

Dwelt  in  the  heart  of  the  moon-daughter,  now  beyond 
ken  of  her  kindred. 

They  who,  betwixt  the  one  Godhead,  His  logos,  crea 
tion,  and  man, 

Infinite,  soulless,  essential,  divine,  were  highest  ideas, 

Perfect  observance  forever  had  kept  of  their  order, 
till  now, 

Seemingly  fearless  in  great  disobedience,  Istar,  the 
moon-child, 

Caught  and  had  struck  to  her  heart  a  great  earth- 
flown  vibration :  so  learned 

All  that  her  high-worshipped  fellows  knew  not  of 
mankind  and  of  woe. 

Fleeing  the  loud-rolling  world  with  her  new  apper 
ception,  she  sped 

Far  to  the  heart  of  the  moon,  where  her  father,  the 
moon-god,  received  her. 


xiv  PROLOGUE 

Then,  on  her  silence  of  wisdom  and  grief,  rose  a  fast- 
winging  plaint 

Carried  across  vasty  deeps  by  the  loud-surging  breath 
of  the  wind. 

Host  upon  host,  then,  the  infinite  tide,  the  reflectors  of 
being 

Swept  towards  the  refuge  of  Istar.  Their  voices,  in 
anger  uplifted, 

Crashed  in  a  thunderous  whirlwind  through  space; 
and  their  far-flowing  light 

Gleaming  and  streaming  in  chaos  of  bright  irides 
cence,  in  flames 

Violet,  yellow  and  green,  silver,  crimson,  and  shim 
mering  gold, 

Glorified  space  and  struck  down  the  world-dwellers 
to  terrified  prayer. 

Sin,  the  great  moon-god,  the  father  of  her  who  sought 
refuge  alone, 

Mourned  in  his  mystical  home;  cried  aloud  through 
the  uprising  clamor, 

Asking  indulgence  for  Istar  the  woman.  Him  an 
swered  but  one : 

Allaraine,  son  of  the  stars,  the  bard  of  J5olian 
songs, 

Lord  of  white  clouds,  who,  begot  of  a  sunset,  went 
winging  his  way 

Far  through  the  star-vault  at  midnight,  full-sprung, 
with  his  heavenly  path 

Marked  by  mellifluous  song  —  'twas  he  who  to  Sin 
made  reply. 

He,  who  alone,  from  the  earth's  evening  glow  had 
beheld  earthly  passion, 

Tranced  by  the  high,  fearless  wrong  of  incarnate 
humanity's  power, 

Fearlessly  now,  before  all  the  tumultuous  host,  voiced 
his  pity. 

Vain  were  his  words,  though  they  fell  into  space  like 
the  pearls  of  the  sea, 


PROLOGUE  xv 

Melting    round    God's    very    throne,  with    melodious 

ecstasy  fraught. 
Silent  the  archtypes  heard,  and  in  silence  of  trembling 

delight 
Istar,  the  lover  of  souls,  concealed  in  the  moon's  dim 

retreat, 
Heard    him.     And    silent    the    earth -world   revolved 

and  Time's  pulses  were  stilled. 
Finally,  out  of  the  deep,  where  space  is  not  and  time 

cannot  be, 
God,   the  Almighty  Jehovah,  made  answer  to  Alla- 

raine's  plea : 

"  Istar,  who   knowledge   of   incarnate  souls  was  for 
bidden  to  hold, 
Thou,   who  unknowing,  daredst  pity  men's  sorrows 

and  sins  manifold, 
Go  to  the  earth-world  as  one  among  men,  and  there 

shalt  thou  behold 
Life,   and  its  correlate,  Death.     Sentient  there  thou 

shalt  live,  but  shalt  be 
Heaven -born   still,   and   thus   worshipped   on   earth, 

though  thou  mayst  not  be  free 
Till,  'neath  the  sorrows  of  flesh,  thou  shall  find  man's 

relation  to  me." 


Out  of  the  mists  of  the  moon  floated  Istar  the  daughter 
of  Sin. 

Out  of  the  mists  and  the  fog  came  she  forth,  and  ^Eolian 
choirs, 

Winds  of  the  evening,  sang  low  of  her  going.  Up 
borne  by  her  tresses 

Floating  above  and  about  her,  she  sank;  and  the 
dawn  was  not  yet. 

Istar,  the  daughter  of  Sin,  in  her  vestment  of  tissue 
of  silver, 

Under  which  glowed  the  deep  purple  proclaiming 
her  godhead,  and  there, 


xvi  PROLOGUE 

Full  on  her  breast,  the  bright  flush  of  the  crimson  that 

told  of  her  passion, 
Laughed  to  herself  and  the  winds,  as  she  came  forth 

from  out  of  her  refuge. 
Down,  far  adown  the  dark,  mystical  depths  of  the 

chasm  of  chaos 
Floated  the  mystical  maiden;  a  voice  like  a  clarion 

echo 
Calling  from  out  of  the  mist  she  had  left:  "O  Istar, 

beloved, 
Hear  and  return  unto  me,  father,  archtype,  soul  of 

the  sphere!" 
Istar,  the  daughter  of  Sin,  obeying  the  word  of  the 

Lord, 
Heard   but   not  heeded   the  voice.     Only  pausing  a 

thought  in  her  course, 
Flinging  her  head  to  the  stars,  laughed  aloud  with 

her  lips  that  were  scarlet. 

Then,  with  a  shake  and  a  shrug  of  her  bare,  cloud- 
born  shoulders,  she  sent 
Clashing  and  ringing  below  into  space  a  bright  silvery 

shower 
Flashing  and  pringling  with  light;   which  earth-men 

called  shower  of  stars. 

Istar  continued  her  flight  and  went  swaying  her  tort 
uous  way 
Down  and  adown  past  all  planets  and  suns  in  their 

horror  of  heat, 
Till,  in  the  end,  the  great  fall  was  accomplished,  and 

Istar  was  born, 
Soulless  and  pure  in  the  city  called  "  Gateway  of  God. " 


THE   JOURNEY 


ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 


THE    SEA 

A  HOT  April  sun  shone  full  over  the  waters  to 
the  pencilled  line  of  the  southern  horizon,  where 
a  long  circle  divided  the  misty,  shimmering  dove- 
color  of  the  Mediterranean  from  the  richer  blue  of 
the  swelling  sky.  A  path  of  sun  -  strewn  ripples, 
broadening  as  the  afternoon  advanced,  ended  at  that 
distant  line,  and  found  its  starting-point  at  the  rocky 
base  of  the  Selinuntian  acropolis,  on  the  southwestern 
coast  of  Sicily.  The  day  was  warm,  and  the  air  rich 
with  the  perfume  of  sweet  alyssum,  beneath  which 
delicate  flower  the  whole  island  lay  buried.  A  light 
breeze  feathered  the  sea,  occasionally  sweeping  away 
enough  powdered  sunshine  to  disclose  the  rich  sap 
phire  depths  of  the  under- waters.  Nevertheless  more 
perfect  skies  had  been,  and  generally  were,  at  this 
season  of  the  year ;  for  to-day  half  the  west  was  hid 
den  by  a  curtain  of  short,  thick  clouds  that  threat 
ened  to  hide  the  usual  evening  glory  of  wine-tinted 
waters  and  crimson-flooded  skies. 

Upon  the  height  of  the  cliff  that  terminates  the  broad 
Selinuntian  plain,  Selinous,  white,  Doric  city,  with 
her  groups  of  many  -  columned  temples  and  her  well- 
built  walls,  sent  forth  the  usual  droning  murmur 
of  life.  White-robed'  men  and  women  were  wont  to 


4  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

move  in  unhurried  dignity  in  their  citadels  in 
those  days  when  J^neas  was  not  yet  a  myth,  before 
Syracuse  knew  Gelon,  when  the  first  Aahmes  ruled 
in  Egypt,  when  Croesus  of  Lydia  and  Astyages  of 
Media  were  paying  bitter  tribute  to  the  great  Elamite 
just  retired  from  Babylonian  plains  to  his  far  Rhagae 
in  the  Eastern  hills;  and  here,  on  the  Sicilian  coast, 
the  Greek  city  lay  in  placid  beauty  upon  her  two  hills, 
divided  by  the  philosophically  drained  valley,  bounded 
upon  the  right  hand  by  her  shining  river,  while  far  to 
the  left,  in  the  direction  of  Acragas,  a  line  of  rugged 
hills  rose  into  the  blue.  The  four  bright  temples  of 
the  acropolis  were  mirrored  in  the  sea  below.-  On 
the  east  hill,  at  some  distance  from  where  the  gigantic 
new  sanctuary  to  Apollo  was  building,  and  directly  in 
front  of  the  old  temple  of  Hera,  on  the  very  edge 
of  the  cliff,  drowsing  in  the  sunlight,  lay  Charmides,  a 
shepherd,  surrounded  by  his  flock. 

The  life  of  a  shepherd  in  the  flood-time  of  a  Sicilian 
spring  was  not  an  arduous  one.  If  it  had  been, 
Theron's  son  would  not,  in  all  probability,  have  fol 
lowed  that  calling  through  the  few  years  that  he 
was  required  to  spend  at  ordinary  labor.  For,  as  his 
family  realized  and  his  appearance  too  markedly  pro 
claimed,  this  child  of  the  Spartans  did  not  partake  of 
the  spirit  of  his  race.  Rarely,  singularly  beautiful  he 
was,  and  fair  as  an  Athenian.  Apollo  himself  might 
have  turned  envious  at  sight  of  this  disciple  of  his  as  he 
slept  on  a  drift  of  wild  daisies,  his  short,  white  tunic 
stained  with  green,  the  thong  that  served  him  for  a  gir 
dle  loosely  tied,  much -worn  sandals  bound  upon  his 
feet,  and  a  wreath  of  gray  olive-leaves  woven  into  the 
rumpled  hair  that  fell  upon  his  neck  in  rings  of  living 
gold.  Charmides'  eyes  had  the  color  of  the  sea.  His 
brows  were  fine  and  straight;  his  mouth  not  alto 
gether  lacking  in  strength,  yet  perfect  as  a  woman's. 
As  he  slept,  one  of  the  youth's  sunburned  hands  grasped 
a  tuft  of  herbs  that  grew  upon  the  edge  of  the  slope, 


THE    SEA  5 

while  the  other,  even  in  his  unconsciousness,  drew  a 
fleeting  harmony  from  the  lyre  that  lay  beside  him. 

This  dalliance  with  the  honored  instrument,  taken 
with  his  unathletic  physique,  was  evidence  enough 
of  the  chosen  profession  of  the  temporary  shepherd. 
Four  years  ago,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  Charmides 
had  elected  to  enter  the  ranks  of  that  band  of  rhap- 
sodists  known  to  us  now  only  as  the  predecessors  of 
fire-winged  Pindar  and  his  glorious  brethren.  Never 
was  the  shepherd  seen  following  his  flock  over  the 
fields  without  lyre  or  flute  in  his  hands;  and 
no  holiday  or  festival  was  quite  complete  without 
some  lyric  chanted  in  his  clear  tenor  to  the  accom 
paniment  of  those  sweet,  primitive  chords  that  so 
fittingly  clothed  the  syllables  of  the  most  melodious 
of  all  tongues.  Charmides'  poems,  however,  were 
always  of  one  type.  Natural  beauty,  the  evening 
wind,  the  perfume  of  a  flower,  the  red  of  dawn,  the 
silver  of  moonlight,  he  would  reproduce  so  perfectly 
in  words  that  he  was  left  unrivalled  in  his  peculiar 
field.  But  greater  themes,  battle-hymns  of  Mars  and 
Nike,  or  idyls  of  Cythera  and  the  dove-drawn  chariot, 
had  not  apparently  occurred  to  him  as  desirable  sub 
jects  for  his  art.  Either  Charmides  was  what  his 
athlete  brother  declared  him — a  woman  dressed  in 
too  short  a  tunic — or  his  true  nature  was  sleeping  far 
beyond  its  natural  period. 

The  sun  hung  just  above  the  clouds  as  the  youth 
sat  up  and  looked  about  him.  His  flock,  a  drove  of 
white,  long-haired  sheep,  whose  wrool  was  woven  into 
many  a  tunic  of  their  herdsman,  had  wandered  out  of 
sight  behind  the  temple  of  Hera.  Charmides  un 
bound  his  flageolet  from  the  side  of  his  left  leg,  and, 
without  stirring  from  his  place,  lifted  the  instrument 
to  his  lips,  playing  upon  it  a  quaint,  primitive  strain 
full  of  minor  cadences,  mournful,  but  peculiarly  pleas 
ing.  For  two  or  three  minutes  this  tune  was  the  only 
sound  to  be  heard.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  came  a  dis- 


6  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

tant  "Ba-a!"  from  the  direction  of  the  temple,  and 
round  its  eastern  columns  appeared  a  white  head, 
another,  and  another,  till  the  whole  flock  was  visible. 
For  a  moment  or  two  they  halted,  regarding  their 
keeper  with  silly,  affectionate  eyes.  Charmides  smiled 
as  he  watched  them,  and  presently  gave  a  little  nod. 
At  sight  of  it  the  leader  of  the  company  started  for 
ward  again,  and  the  entire  number  followed,  at  a  gentle 
trot.  When  he  was  entirely  surrounded  by  his  ani 
mals,  Charmides  put  his  pipe  back  in  its  place,  caressed 
with  rough  tenderness  the  nearest  lamb,  and  finally, 
having  had  enough  of  afternoon  with  the  sea,  sprang 
to  his  feet  thinking  to  proceed  farther  afield.  As 
his  eyes  met  the  western  horizon,  from  •  which  his 
face  had  for  the  last  few  moments  been  turned,  he 
broke  his  yawn  short  off  in  the  middle,  and  his 
intent  was  forgotten.  The  cloud,  which  now  covered 
the  sun,  was  no  longer  gray,  but  a  deep  purple,  pal 
pitating  with  inward  fire;  while  far  to  the  west  a 
galley,  a  little,  black  patch  upon  the  waters,  rose 
upon  the  horizon,  coming  from  Mazzara.  Charmides 
saw  possibilities  of  hexameters  in  the  race,  and, 
though  its  outcome  did  not  affect  him  in  the  least,  he 
had  a  desire  to  know  whether  he  must  have  Zeus 
with  his  bolts  bring  vengeance  on  some  disobedient 
mortal,  or  whether  Father  Neptune  and  his  dolphins 
were  to  lead  the  men  of  the  galley  safely  into  the  little 
Sslinuntian  harbor. 

It  was  not  many  minutes  before  the  little  vessel  had 
become  a  Phoenician  bireme  with  a  huge,  brown  main 
sail  hanging  loosely  on  the  mast,  and  barely  visible  oars 
churning  the  water  on  each  side  with  hasty  vigor. 
By  this  time  the  last  radiance  had  been  swept  from  the 
sky.  The  distant  waters  darkened,  and  their  restless, 
uneasy  masses  began  to  show  flecks  of  foam.  Pres 
ently,  for  a  bare  second,  through  a  single  rift  in  the 
cloud,  a  thin  gleam  of  sunlight  shot  out  and  down  to 
the  misty  sea,  lighting  the  dark  surface  to  opalescent 


THE    SEA  7 

brightness,  and  then  disappearing  in  a  single  breath. 
As  the  sky  darkened  again  the  air  grew  cold.  Three 
or  four  petrels,  birds  of  the  storm,  rising  from  the  dis 
tant  sands,  veered  joyously  out  over  the  flattening 
waters.  A  faint  murmur  of  angry  winds  came  from 
the  west,  and  with  its  first  sound  Charmides  was  re 
called  from  the  scene  in  which  he  was  blithely  living 
to  his  flock,  who  were  upon  the  verge  of  a  stampede. 
They  had  ceased  to  eat  and  were  standing  quiveringly 
still,  heads  up,  nostrils  distended,  fore-legs  stiffening 
for  the  leap  and  race  which  would  follow  the  first  thun 
der-clap.  Their  shepherd  was  just  in  time.  Putting 
all  thought  of  the  storm  behind  him,  he  lifted  his  lyre 
and  started  forward,  singing  as  he  went.  The  sheep 
followed  him,  with  implicit  faith,  across  the  broad  past 
ure  and  down  the  long,  gentle  slope  in  the  direction  of 
their  fold  and  his  father's  house,  till  the  sea  and  the 
galley  and  the  storm  were  left  to  the  petrels  and  those 
on  the.  acropolis  to  watch. 

There,  indeed,  in  front  of  the  basilica,  quite  a  band 
of  citizens  had  assembled,  watching  with  interest  and 
anxiety  the  progress  of  the  storm-beset  vessel.  The 
little  ship  had  apparently  a  daring  captain.  No  pre 
cautions  whatever  had  been  made  for  the  first  gust 
of  wind ;  neither  did  the  ship's  course  suggest  that  there 
would  be  an  effort  to  gain  the  inner  harbor  of  the  city 
as  speedily  as  possible.  Instead,  those  that  watched 
realized  that  she  would  be  a  hundred  feet  off  the  base 
of  the  acropolis  cliff  when  the  storm  broke.  At 
present  the  wind  had  so  nearly  died  away  that  the 
main-sail  flapped  at  the  mast.  The  double  banks  of 
oars  were  working  rapidly  and  unevenly,  and  the  main 
deck  of  the  vessel  was,  to  all  appearances,  entirely 
deserted.  Evidently  an  unusual  state  of  affairs  pre 
vailed  on  board  of  the  Phrenician  galley. 

The  pause  that  preceded  the  breaking  of  the  storm 
was  unnaturally  long.  Save  for  the  gleam  of  an  oc 
casional,  faintly  hissing  wave-crest,  the  waters  had 


8  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

grown  black.  The  heart  of  the  storm-cloud  seethed 
in  purple,  while  all  the  rest  of  the  sky  was  hung  with 
gray.  There  came  one  long  moment  when  the  atmos 
phere  sank  under  a  weight  of  sudden  heat.  Then  the 
far-distant  murmur,  which  till  now  had  been  scarcely 
audible,  rushed  upon  the  silence  in  a  mighty  roar,  as, 
up  from  the  south,  driven  before  the  gale,  came  a  long 
line  of  white  waves  that  rose  as  they  advanced  till  the 
very  Tritons  bent  their  heads  and  the  nymphs  scur 
ried  down  to  greener  depths.  Now  a  sudden,  zigzag 
streak  of  fire  shot  through  the  cloud,  followed  by  a 
crash  as  of  all  the  bolts  of  Zeus  let  off  at  once.  The 
galley  seemed  to  be  scarcely  moving.  Her  sail  hung 
loose  upon  its  mast.  Not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen  upon 
the  upper  deck.  Only  the  oars  still  creaked  in  their 
holes,  and  the  water  churned  unevenly  along  the  ves 
sel's  sides.  The  wind  was  nearly  upon  her.  There 
was  a  second  glare  of  lightning,  a  second  crash  more 
fearful  than  the  first;  and  then  it  was  as  if  the  frag 
ile  craft,  seized  by  some  cyclopean  hand,  had  been 
lifted  entirely  from  the  water  to  be  plunged  downward 
again  into  the  midst  of  chaos. 

The  number  of  spectators  of  this  unusual  scene  had 
by  this  time  been  greatly  augmented.  Upon  the  acrop 
olis,  at  the  point  where  the  street  of  Victory  came  to 
an  end  upon  the  edge  of  the  precipitous  cliff,  stood  a 
crowd  of  men  and  women,  to  whom  others  were  con 
tinually  coming  from  the  shelter  of  their  houses. 
Presently  Charmides,  together  with  his  brother,  Pha- 
laris,  both  breathless  from  their  run  across  the  valley 
of  the  Hypsas,  arrived  on  the  cliff.  The  galley  was 
now  struggling  in  the  centre  of  the  storm,  writhing 
and  shuddering  over  the  waves  directly  in  front  of  the 
acropolis.  As  the  only  possible  salvation,  her  bow 
had  been  pointed  directly  to  the  south  into  the  wind,  a 
move  which  made  it  necessary  for  the  rowers,  backing 
water  with  all  their  strength,  to  keep  her  from  driv 
ing  backward  upon  the  great  rock,  fragments  of 


THE    SEA  9 

which  were  strewn  far  out  through  the  water  from  the 
base  of  the  cliff  behind.  Through  the  incessant  light 
ning  flashes  the  violent  and  uneven  use  of  the  oars 
was  clearly  visible,  and,  after  watching  them  in  silence 
for  a  few  moments,  Phalaris  shook  his  head. 

"  The  rowers  will  not  endure  long  under  such  labor. 
The  boat  must  be  driven  ashore." 

"As  yet  they  have  lost  no  distance,  though." 

And  this,  indeed,  was  true.  Full  fifty  yards  now 
lay  between  the  first  rock  and  the  stern  of  the  galley. 
It  seemed,  too,  as  if  the  storm  had  lulled  a  little.  Char- 
mides  shouted  the  idea  into  his  brother's  ear,  but  Pha 
laris  again  shook  his  head,  and  both  looked  once  more 
to  the  vessel,  just  in  time  to  see  her  struck  by  a  fresh 
gust  of  wind  that  tore  the  overstrained  sail  into 
ribbons  and  shreds.  At  the  same  instant  the  oars 
ceased  their  work.  The  boat  spun  completely  round, 
twice,  like  a  wheel,  and  a  second  later  was  driven,  by 
one  great  wave,  straight  towards  the  huge  rocks  off 
the  cliff. 

"Apollo!  What  has  happened  to  the  rowers?" 
cried  one  of  the  elders. 

"And  where  is  the  captain  of  this  vessel?  Is  he  a 
madman?" 

"  In  three  minutes  more  she  will  be  a  wreck.  Come, 
Charmides!"  shouted  Phalaris,  starting  over  the  cliff. 

Together  the  brothers  climbed  down  the  precipitous 
descent  to  the  narrow  strip  of  sand  at  its  base.  Here 
was  a  scene  of  no  little  activity.  The  Tfreronides  found 
themselves  last  of  a  company  of  their  friends  to  ar 
rive  at  this  point  of  vantage,  where  not  a  few  had  been 
standing  for  half  an  hour.  Several  older  men  were  also 
grouped  along  the  beach,  anxiously  watching  the 
drama  wrhich  threatened  to  terminate  in  a  tragedy. 
At  the  moment  when  the  brothers  reached  the  lower 
shore,  the  galley,  lifted  high  upon  the  wave,  hung 
for  a  second  on  its  summit,  and  then,  as  it  broke,  spun 
down  and  forward  with  sickening  speed  straight 


io  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

upon  two  horn-shaped  rocks,  between  which  she  was 
presently  wedged  fast  and  firmly,  twenty  yards  from 
shore. 

A  little  cry  broke  from  Charmides'  lips.  With  the 
next  flash  he  beheld  the  galley  heeled  far  upon  her 
right  side,  oars- shattered,  sides  still  uncrushed,  while 
on  her  prow  there  stood  at  last  a  black  swarm  of 
men. 

By  this  time  a  dozen  of  the  young  Greeks,  stripped 
of  their  wet  tunics,  were  making  their  way  out  into  the 
breakers,  intent  upon  saving  the  wrecked  sailors  from 
being  dashed  upon  the  rocks  as  they  escaped  from  their 
ship.  Charmides  hastily  followed  the  example  of  his 
fellows  and  ran  into  the  chilly  water  after  Phalaris, 
who  stood  in,  shoulder-deep,  fifty  feet  from  the  ship. 
It  was  nearly  impossible  to  keep  a  footing  there. 
Breaker  after  breaker  dashed  over  their  heads,  and 
Phalaris,  expert  swimmer  as  he  was,  found  himself 
unable  to  stand  upright,  and  frequently  struggled  to 
his  feet  choking  for  breath,  with  sea-water  in  his  eyes, 
ears,  and  nose.  Charmides  fared  worse  still.  Over 
balanced  by  the  second  wave  that  struck  him,  he 
was  whirled  round  and  round  in  it,  and  finally  washed 
up  on  shore,  half  drowned.  After  a  moment  or  two 
of  gasping  and  reeling,  he  returned  pluckily  into  the 
water,  this  time  finding  shelter  beside  a  rock  which 
he  could  also  grasp.  Phalaris  managed  to  reach  his 
side  and  share  his  protection,  and  there  the  two  of 
them  stood,  waiting. 

A  period  of  delay  and  general  commotion  on  the 
deck  of  the  galley  ensued.  Three  men  in  the  centre  of 
the  company  of  sailors  were  engaged  in  some  alterca 
tion,  in  which  all  the  rest  seemed  far  more  interested 
than  in  making  an  escape  from  the  vessel,  which, 
apparently,  was  in  no  immediate  danger  of  breaking 
up.  Presently,  however,  to  Phalaris'  immense  relief, 
for  the  useless  battling  with  breakers  was  becoming  too 
much,  alike  for  his  strength  and  for  his  patience,  one  of 


THE    SEA  11 

the  men  from  the  galley  was  seen  to  throw  a  rope  over 
the  vessel's  side,  make  it  fast  upon  the  bulwark,  and 
begin  to  lower  himself,  hand  over  hand,  down  to  the 
water.  At  the  rope's  end  he  stopped,  hung  there 
for  a  moment,  waiting  for  a  wave  to  go  by,  and  then 
slipped  lightly  in.  Like  all  Phoenicians  he  was  a 
good  swimmer.  Phalaris  knew,  from  the  manner  in 
which  he  threw  himself  forward,  that  there  was  little 
danger  of  his  not  reaching  the  shore.  Yet  when,  pres 
ently,  a  wave  dashed  violently  over  him,  Charmides 
gave  a  little  cry  at  seeing  the  man  hurled  helplessly 
forward,  and  then  roll  over  and  over  in  the  grasp  of 
the  sea.  Phalaris  shouted  above  the  clamor  of  winds 
and  waters: 

"Watch,  Charmides,  to  seize  him!" 

As  the  writhing  body  swirled  towards  them,  both 
Greeks,  leaning  forward,  caught  and  held  it  fast. 
The  man  was  not  drowned  nor  even  unconscious.  Ac 
customed  to  living  more  or  less  in  the  sea,  he  had  swal 
lowed  but  little  water,  and,  being  set  upright  again, 
with  his  feet  touching  bottom,  he  stood  still  for  a  mo 
ment,  said  something  in  Phoenician  to  his  rescuers, 
and  proceeded  towards  the  shore,  where  most  of  the 
young  men,  less  patient  and  less  expert  than  Theron's 
sons,  now  stood. 

Phalaris  and  Charmides,  however,  perceiving  that 
they  were  likely  to  be  of  real  use  where  they  were, 
held  their  position ;  and,  exhilarated  by  the  excitement 
and  pleasure  of  the  first  rescue,  they  caught  and  as 
sisted,  one  by  one,  nearly  the  whole  crew  of  the  galley. 
Phalaris,  indeed,  was  amazed  at  the  way  in  which 
his  brother  bore  himself.  The  rhapsode  worked  as 
vigorously  as  the  athlete,  showed  no  fear  at  the  on 
slaught  of  the  waves,  and  was  almost  as  successful 
as  the  other  at  catching  and  holding  the  distressed 
swimmers  as  they  came  by.  At  length  there  remained 
upon  the  galley  only  the  three  men  that  had  first 
been  engaged  in  the  discussion.  Of  these,  two  pres- 


12  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

ently  disappeared  from  sight  in  the  hold  of  the  ship, 
leaving  one  alone  by  the  bulwark.  As  this  person, 
the  length  of  whose  tunic  showed  him  to  be  no  com 
mon  sailor,  finally  climbed  over  the  ship's  side  and 
began  to  lower  himself  leisurely  to  the  water,  Phalaris 
turned  to  look  upon  his  brother.  Charmides'  form 
was  dimly  outlined  in  the  gathering  darkness,  and  his 
features  were  indistinguishable.  A  lightning  flash, 
however,  presently  revealed  the  face,  pale  and  drawn 
with  exhaustion.  Phalaris  perceived  it  sympathet 
ically. 

"For  this  one  man  we  will  wait.  Then,  if  there 
are  not  to  be  two  drowned  Greeks,  we  must  make 
our  way  ashore,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  and  Charmides 
nodded  assent. 

The  last  man,  for  all  his  easy  bearing,  proved  to 
be  a  far  less  expert  swimmer  than  his  predecessors. 
He  had  not  accomplished  more  than  a  single,  uncer 
tain  stroke  when  a  wave  caught  him,  rolled  over  his 
head,  and  buried  him  completely  from  the  straining 
vision  of  his  would-be  rescuer.  He  was  under  water 
for  what  seemed  to  Charmides  an  eternity ;  and  when, 
finally,  by  the  light  of  a  flash  of  lightning,  the  body 
was  seen  to  reappear  from  the  foam  of  a  broken  wave, 
it  tossed  there,  lifeless,  making  no  effort  at  resistance. 
Charmides  rushed  through  the  water  to  the  drowning 
man's  side,  and,  before  reaching  him,  found  himself 
out  of  his  depth.  As  he  sent  a  despairing  shout  to 
Phalaris,  the  supposed  unconscious  one  addressed  him, 
shouting  above  the  surrounding  roar,  in  Phoenician : 

"Save  yourself,  youth!  I  shall  float — "  The  sen 
tence  was  interrupted  by  a  rush  of  water,  which  threw 
Charmides  forward,  and  once  more  buried  the  light, 
limp  body  of  this  unusual  person. 

Acting  upon  the  excellent  advice  of  the  floater,  the 
Greek  made  his  difficult  way  to  the  shore,  arriving 
on  the  beach  at  the  same  time  with  Phalaris,  and  a 
moment  later  than  the  stranger,  who  had  been  washed 


THE    SEA  13 

up  unhurt  and  apparently  not  much  disturbed  by 
his  contest  with  the  waves. 

The  two  brothers,  reaching  dry  land  again,  found 
but  few  of  their  friends  left  on  the  sand.  As  the  wet 
and  half-drowned  sailors  arrived,  one  by  one,  on  the 
shore,  they  had  been  approached  by  the  native  Greeks, 
and,  the  relations  between  Carthage  and  Selinous 
being  as  yet  of  the  most  amicable  nature,  hospitably 
taken  up  to  the  city,  where  warmth,  food,  and  rest  were 
to  be  had.  Among  the  group  of  three  or  four  that  re 
mained  when  the  last  Phoenician  wras  washed  up  by 
the  waves,  was  one  who  hastened  to  Charmides,  as 
he  stood  dizzily  on  the  sand  looking  back  into  the 
sea  that  was  in  such  a  furious  commotion. 

"Charmides,  you  have  been  foolhardy  enough. 
Such  work  is  well  for  Phalaris,  perhaps,  but — " 

"  Father,  it  seems  to  me  that  for  many  months  Char 
mides  has  been  deceiving  us.  By  nature  he  is  an 
excellent  athlete — better  than  I." 

Charmides  shook  his  head  and  replied,  faintly: 
"Let  us  go  home.  There  is  no  more  to  do." 

"But  there  remain  still  two  men  on  the  galley." 

"For  them,"  put  in  the  stranger,  speaking  in  awk 
ward  Greek,  "  you  need  not  fear.  They  are  still  below 
with  the  slaves,  but  they  will  easily  reach  the  shore, 
if,  indeed,  they  wish  to  do  so.  I  think  they  will  rather 
remain  where  they  are  to-night." 

"The  galley  does  not  appear  to  be  breaking  up." 

"No.  Her  bottom  did  not  strike.  She  is  only 
wedged  fast  between  two  rocks." 

In  the  little  pause  which  followed,  Theron  peered 
through  the  darkness  in  an  attempt  to  distinguish 
the  features  of  the  stranger.  Night  had  closed  in, 
however,  in  intense  blackness,  and  before  Charmides 
had  time  to  put  in  a  second,  shivering  appeal,  his 
father  said : 

"Come  then,  my  sons,  we  will  start  homeward. 
Your  mother  must  be  waiting  our  return,  And  you, 


14  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

0  stranger,  if  you  will  accept  of  shelter  and  food  at 
our  hands,  such  as  we  have,  in  the  name  of  Apollo, 
are  yours." 

The  man  from  the  galley  accepted,  without  hesi 
tation,  the  proffered  hospitality.  Then  Theron  bade 
good-night  to  those  with  whom  he  had  been  talking, 
and  the  stranger  followed  in  the  footsteps  of  the  young 
men,  who  were  hastening  along  the  sand  that  skirted 
the  cliff  and  thence  ran  into  a  wider  beach  that  ter 
minated  the  valley  between  the  two  hills. 

It  was  twenty  minutes  of  difficult  walking  even  in 
daylight  to  reach  the  abode  of  Theron  from  the 
acropolis;  and  to-night,  amid  the  heavy  darkness, 
and  in  their  exhausted  condition,  both  Channides  and 
his  brother  were  completely  spent  before  the  friendly 
light  of  their  home  became  visible  in  front  of  them. 
The  house  was  well  built,  of  stone  covered  with  the 
usual  stucco,  brightly  colored  without  and  prettily 
frescoed  within.  The  rooms  above  ground  numbered 
only  four;  while  beneath  the  living-room,  reached  by 
a  flight  of  stone  steps,  was  a  cellar  stored  with  a 
goodly  number  of  amphorae  filled  with  wine  of  varied 
make  and  excellence — most  of  it  from  vines  that  cov 
ered  the  much-disputed  Egestan  plain ;  some,  of  more 
celebrated  vintage,  sent  up  from  Syracuse. 

Theron's  wife,  Heraia,  and  Doris,  the  pretty  slave, 
their  day's  spinning  and  embroidery  ended,  were 
busy  preparing  the  evening  meal.  Heraia  was  not 
a  little  anxious  over  the  absence  of  her  husband  and 
her  two  sons  through  the  whole  of  the  storm,  and  she 
was  particularly  uneasy  about  Charmides,  whom  she 
loved  more  with  the  tenderness  felt  for  a  daughter 
than  for  a  son.  Some  time  since  she  had  despatched 
Sardeis,  the  male  slave,  to  the  sheep-run,  to  see  if 
the  rhapsode's  flock  had  been  safely  housed,  and  if 
there  were  any  signs  of  the  shepherd's  return.  And 
the  matron  had  herself  gone  many  times  to  the  -door 
and  looked  forth  into  the  oft-illumined  darkness  in 


THE    SEA  15 

the  hope  that  the  storm  was  abating.  A  stew  of  goat's 
flesh  steamed  fragrantly  in  the  kettle  by  the  fire,  and 
Doris  kneaded  cakes  of  ground  corn  that  were  to  be 
laid  before  the  fire  immediately  upon  Theron's  return. 
Heraia  was  setting  the  table  with  plates  and  drinking- 
cups,  when  suddenly  Phalaris  threw  open  the  door. 
His  appearance  was  hot  reassuring. .  Doris  gave  a 
faint  shriek,  and  Heraia  cried,  in  great  anxiety: 

"Thy  father  —  and  Charmides  —  where  are  they? 
You  are  half  fainting,  Phalaris !  Come  in.  What  has 
happened?" 

"The  others  are  with  me,  just  behind,  bringing  up 
a  Phoenician  from  the  galley  that  went  on  the  rocks 
below  the  acropolis.  Here  they  are." 

The  other  three  at  that  moment  appeared  out  of 
the  darkness  beyond  the  door-way.  Theron  and  the 
stranger  in  front,  Charmides  lagging  weakly  in  the 
rear.  Heraia  sighed  with  relief  at  beholding  them, 
wet,  bedraggled,  and  spent  as  they  were.  Phalaris, 
and  the  stranger,  about  whose  legs  the  long,  soaked 
tunic  napped  uncomfortably,  and  Charmides,  whose 
wet  skin  was  of  the  color  and  texture  of  polished  ivory, 
were  all  three  shivering  with  cold.  Theron,  then, 
as  the  only  unspent  one  of  the  party,  cried  out,  vigor 
ously  : 

"  Heraia,  there  must  be  wine,  food,  and  dry  garments 
for  us  all,  especially  for  this  Phoenician,  who,  driven 
from  his  ship  by  wind,  wave,  and  rock,  seeks  shelter 
at  our  hands,  and  is  for  the  night  our  honored  guest. 
He—" 

" — proffers  thanks  to  you  and  to  the  protecting 
gods  for  rescue  from  the  waters  and  reception  into 
your  home,"  put  in  the  stranger,  gracefully,  if  with 
some  languor. 

Heraia  merely  smiled  her  welcome  as  her  eyes  flash 
ed  once  over  his  swarthy  face;  and  then,  as  one  long 
accustomed  to  such  demands  upon  her  resources, 
she  took  command  of  the  situation.  From  a  carven 


16  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

chest  on  one  side  of  the  room  she  brought  dry  raiment 
for  them  all,  despatching  her  boys  first  to  their  room 
with  it  while  she  stopped  the  Phoenician  for  a  moment 
\vith  an  apology. 

"I  have  no  vestment  to  offer  that  can  equal  yours 
in  texture  and  color/'  she  said,  regretfully,  gazing 
with  admiring  eyes  on  the  long,  yellow  tunic,  with 
its  deep  borders  of  the  wonderful  Tyrian  purple  which 
no  amount  of  sea-water  could  dim  and  no  sun  of  the 
tropics  fade  to  a  paler  hue.  "But  at  least  it  shall  be 
carefully  dried  and  stretched  smooth  upon  the  frame. 
Now  if  you  will  but  follow  Charmides  " — she  pointed 
to  a  door- way  leading  to  the  next  room — "wine  shall 
be  carried  to  you  while  you  dress,  and  food  will  be 
ready  before  you  are.  Go  then  at  once." 

Smiling  to  himself  at  her  woman's  tongue,  the 
Phoenician  very  willingly  obeyed  her  behest,  and 
joined  the  two  young  men  in  their  room.  Here  the 
three  of  them  rubbed  one  another  back  into  a  glow  of 
warmth,  while  Theron,  in  another  chamber,  doffed 
his  rain-soaked  vestment  for  a  gayly  bordered  tunic, 
and  pretty  Doris,  in  the  living-room,  still  knelt  before 
the  fire  over  her  well-kneaded  cakes. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  family  and  their  guest,  all 
much  refreshed  by  the  combination  of  wine  and 
warmth,  seated  themselves  on  stools  round  the  table, 
where  various  dishes  were  set  forth  about  a  big  jar 
of  mellow  wine.  Doris,  upon  whose  graceful  figure 
Phalaris'  eyes  were  often  seen  to  rest,  while  the 
stranger  glanced  at  her  once  or  twice  in  contem 
plative  admiration,  poured  wine  as  it  was  \vanted 
into  the  wrought-metal  cups,  and  took  care  that  no 
one  lacked  for  food.  Presently  Theron,  perceiving 
that  his  guest's  spirits  were  rising  under  the  genial 
influence  of  the  Syracusan  product,  began  to  question 
him  concerning  his  voyage. 

The  Greeks,  out  of  courtesy,  spoke  in  the  Phoenician 
tongue,  which,  owing  to  their  proximity  to  the  east- 


THE    SEA  17 

erly  Phoenician  settlements,  and  their  constant  trad 
ing  intercourse  with  the  Carthaginians,  they  spoke 
with  some  fluency.  The  stranger,  with  equal  polite 
ness  and  with  more  difficulty,  made  his  replies  in  the 
language  of  his  hosts. 

"Your  race,  indeed,  are  daring  travellers.  It  is 
said  that  the  Phoenician  biremes  have  been  known 
to  pass  the  pillars  of  Hercules  beyond  the  setting 
sun.  Tell  us,  have  you  ever  looked  upon  that 
outer  stream  of  water  that  flows  round  the  plain  of 
earth?" 

Kabir  laughed.  "The  sea  that  lies  beyond  the 
Herculean  pillars  is  not  part  of  the  stream  that  sur 
rounds  the  earth.  I  have  but  now  come  from  far 
beyond  those  little  mountains.  We  left  Tyre  seven 
months  ago,  at  the  beginning  of  the  rainy  season, 
touching  at  Carthage  and  her  colonies  on  the  coast  of 
Hispania.  Then  we  passed  the  pillars,  and  sailed 
away  to  that  far,  cold  country  of  savages  where  we 
go  for  a  kind  of  dye -plant  with  which  the  na 
tives  stain  their  bodies  blue,  and  for  a  bright  metal 
which  they  dig  from  the  earth,  but  which  is  not 
found  in  the  East.  The  savages  there  are  gentle 
enough  with  us.  They  like  our  warm,  woollen  cloth, 
and  our  weapons,  and  brass-work,  and  our  jewelry. 
This  time,  when  we  had  finished  our  trading  on 
their  shores,  we  took  one  of  them  on  board  with  us 
to  guide  us  up  the  northern  sea  to  the  cold  land  of 
Boreas.  Across  this  frozen  country,  through  forests 
and  over  hills,  among  fierce  native  tribes,  we  Phoeni 
cians  have  made  a  road  which  leads  us  farther  north, 
to  the  shores  of  an  inner  sea  in  whose  waters  are  to 
be  found  marvellous  gems  of  a  bright  yellow  color, 
sometimes  clear  as  glass,  again  thick,  like  unpolished 
gold.  These  we  gather  and  carry  home  with  us,  to 
be  cut  into  ornaments  for  our  princes  and  their  wives, 
and  for  our  temple  -  fanes.  They  sell  them  to  us 
for  our  cloth,  these  dwellers  by  the  sea.  Then  we 


18  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

return,  by  the  way  we  came,  to  our  ship.  This  is  the 
third  time  that  I,  master  -  trader  of  the  Fish  of  Tyre, 
have,  by  the  favor  of  Baal  and  Melkart,  accomplished 
the  journey." 

The  exceptionally  modest  recital  ended  in  a  burst 
of  genuine  wonderment  and  admiration  from  the 
auditors.  Finally,  when  the  requisite  questions  and 
compliments  had  been  passed,  Phalaris  observed,  curi 
ously  : 

"The  sailors  of  your  galley  —  they  have  travelled 
very  far.  Are  they  well-disciplined  men?" 

Kabir  nodded.  "  They  are  as  good  at  sails  and  ropes 
and  as  fearless  in  distant  seas  as  they  were  at  ease  in 
the  water  to-day.  You  saw  them?" 

Phalaris  gave  a  chuckle.  "If  you,  master-trader, 
are  as  good  at  making  a  bargain  as  you  are  at  floating, 
then  indeed  must  the  savages  of  the  North  be  rueful 
after  your  departure.  But  your  rowers  —  the  slaves 
— they  also  are  trustworthy  and  patient?" 

Kabir 's  pale  face  suddenly  flushed.  "The  dogs! 
By  the  hand  of  Moloch,  if  I  had  had  my  way,  every 
man  of  them  would  lie  with  a  slit  nose  to-night!  It 
was  they  that  wrecked  our  galley  to-day.  For  a  month 
we  have  been  on  the  verge  of  an  outbreak  from  them. 
They  have  complained  forever  about  everything — their 
food,  their  places,  their  chains,  the  length  of  the  voy 
age,  too  little  rest.  Latterly  it  has  been  a  risk  each 
night  when  we  loosened  their  bonds  to  let  them  sleep. 
And  this  afternoon,  long  before  the  storm,  their  in 
solence  had  become  unbearable.  For  three  hours 
their  master,  Sydyk,  and  Eshmun  and  I  stood  whip 
ping  them  to  their  work.  The  wind  was  on  us  while 
we  were  still  below,  and  Taker,  Eshmun's  cousin, 
fool  that  he  was,  forbore  to  have  the  sail  drawn.  It 
was  not  till  we  were  facing  the  full  gale  and  those 
panic-stricken  dogs  pulling  like  madmen  to  keep  us 
off  the  rocks,  that  Eshmun  went  up  to  see  what  could 
be  done.  At  the  moment  when  he  reached  the  deck 


THE    SEA  19 

the  sail  was  blown  into  shreds,  and  we  were  spun  round 
as  if  Scylla  herself  had  caught  us.  Hearing  a  great 
clamor  above  them,  and  feeling  the  ship  suddenly  reel 
under  their  oars,  every  slave  in  the  hold  fell  forward 
on  his  face,  shrieking  out  prayers  to  Baal  and  giving 
no  heed  to  the  bloody  lashes  that  we  still  whirled  over 
their  heads.  Both  Sydyk  and  I  foresaw  that  thing 
which  shortly  happened ;  and  at  the  moment  when  the 
galley  was  first  thrown  between  the  rocks,  we  reached 
the  upper  air,  finding  Eshmun  ready  to  descend  once 
more  that  he  might  unchain  the  slaves,  who  would 
otherwise  drown  during  the  night  at  their  posts. 
Sydyk,  however,  vowed  that  not  6"ne  of  them  should 
live,  in  consequence  of  their  rebellious  folly.  When 
the  dispute  between  them  was  thus  begun,  I,  unwisely, 
interposed,  advising  speedy  escape  for  ourselves,  letting 
the  animals  below  live  or  perish  as  they  would.  They 
might  certainly  survive  till  morning,  since  by  now  we 
could  plainly  perceive  that  the  galley  could  not  sink, 
wedged  as  she  was  in  the  rocks.  So  the  discussion 
continued,  and  was  in  no  way  concluded  between  the 
two  of  them  when  you  saw  me  leave  the  vessel  and 
start  for  shore.  I  can  float,  but  I  cannot  swim  as  well 
as  most  children,  and  I  needed  what  strength  was 
mine  to  get  me  to  land.  Besides  this,  I  was  most  wet, 
most  chilled,  and  fagged  enough  with  the  unpleasant 
events  of  the  afternoon.  Therefore  let  us  drink  another 
libation  to  the  gods,  who  led  me  to-night  under  the 
shadow  of  your  kindly  roof." 

This  short  explanation  of  the  trouble  on  the  galley 
over  which  the  citizens  of  Selinous  had  so  wondered 
that  afternoon,  was  listened  to  with  great  interest, 
and  received  various  comments.  Phalaris  strongly 
sympathized  with  Kabir's  disgust  with  the  slaves. 
Theron  expressed  more  temperate  ideas;  and  Heraia 
gently  voiced  her  pity  for  the  unfortunate  wretches. 
Charmides,  who  was  entirely  of  his  mother's  mind, 
remained  silent.  When  the  discussion  had  lost  its 


20  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

vigor,  he  rose  from  the  table,  and,  moving  rather  aim 
lessly  to  the  door,  opened  it  to  look  out. 

"It  will  soon  be  too  warm,  mother,  for  your  fire,"  he 
said.  "The  clouds  have  parted,  and  the  great  night- 
star  hangs  in  the  heavens." 

The  chance  remark  brought  silence  to  the  little  party, 
and  they  sat  absently  watching  the  shepherd  who  had 
halted  in  the  door-way,  his  white  profile  silhouetted 
against  the  outer  blackness.  Kabir,  especially,  gazed 
on  him  in  growing  admiration. 

"By  Hercules!"  he  observed,  softly,  to  Phalaris, 
"thy  brother's  form  would  make  a  fitting  Tammuz 
for  the  great  Istar  of  Babylon!" 

Charmides  chanced  to  catch  the  last  words  of  this 
sentence,  and  he  slowly  turned  his  head.  "Istar  of 
Babylon,"  he  Basked.  "Who  is  she?" 

The  Phoenician  regarded  him  intently.  "They  call 
you  a  rhapsode,"  he  said. 

Charmides  nodded. 

"And  you  have  not  heard  of  the  living  goddess?" 

"The  living  goddess!"  came  from  three  mouths  at 
once. 

"Listen  then.     It  is  a  fitting  subject  for  the  lyre." 


n 

THE    VOW 

CHARMIDES,  with  a  look  of  unusual  curiosity  in 
his  face,  left  his  post  and  crossed  to  the  fireplace, 
seating  himself  upon  the  ground  before  it.  During  the 
story  that  followed,  the  shepherd's  bright  blue  eyes 
sought  the  ruddiest  depths  of  the  leaping  flames,  while 
his  expressive  mouth  responded  to  every  passing 
thought,  and  the  narrator  was  fascinated  by  the  glory 
of  his  hair,  which  caught  the  firelight,  and  tossed  off 
its  burning  reflection  in  a  thousand  dazzling  rays,  till 
Charmides'  head  was  surrounded  by  such  a  halo  as 
saint  has  never  worn.  Theron,  Phalaris,  and  Heraia, 
who,  however  incredulous  they  might  be,  could  not  but 
be  struck  by  the  stranger's  theme,  gathered  closer  to 
him,  and  listened  with  an  intensity  flattering  enough 
to  spur  Kabir  to  great  efforts  in  his  narrative.  He, 
however,  well  aware  that,  at  his  best,  he  could  never 
dream  of  rivalling  the  Greek  professional  in  this  art  of 
arts,  chose  rather  to  treat  his  subject  in  the  simplest 
possible  manner. 

"Two  years  ago,  in  the  fourteenth  year  of  the 
reign  of  Nabu-Nahid,  King  of  Babylon,"  men  say 
that  Istar,  the  great  goddess — our  Astarte — Aphrodite 
to  you  —  came  in  the  flesh  to  Babylon.  For  three 
days  and  three  nights  flames  of  white  fire  hung  over 
the  temples  of  Bel,  of  Marduk,  and  of  Nebo,  while  the 
images  of  the  gods  in  their  shrines  chanted  unceas- 

*  541  B.C. 


22  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

ingly  in  an  unknown  tongue.  On  the  morning  of 
the  fourth  day  the  hierodules  attached  to  the  temple 
of  Istar,  ascending  her  ziggurat  to  the  sanctuary  on 
the  seventh  stage,  found  the  goddess  herself,  asleep 
upon  her  golden  couch. 

"How  she  awoke,  what  she  said  to  her  priestesses, 
or  in  what  manner  she  first  descended  to  take  up  her 
abode  in  the  temple  below,  I  have  never  heard.  But 
before  a  month  was  past,  all  Babylon,  and  in  three 
months  all  the  East,  from  Sidon  to  Gaza,  and  from  Ur 
to  Damascus,  rang  with  the  wonder  of  her  divinity  and 
her  beauty.  It  is  now  long  since  I  heard  of  her,  hav 
ing  been  so  many  months  away  from  my  country.  But 
formerly  every  caravan  that  came  from  the  great  city 
held  some  that  had  seen  her,  or  perhaps  had  heard 
her  speak,  and  throngs  would  assemble  in  the  market 
places  to  listen  to  the  least  story  of  her  personality. 
It  was  said — " 

"  Yes,  yes.  She  was  beautiful,  you  say?  How  beau 
tiful?  How  did  she  look?"  interrupted  Charmides,  in 
stumbling  haste. 

Kabir,  noting  the  flush  upon  the  shepherd's  cheek, 
smiled  a  little  to  himself.  "She  is  the  most  fair  of 
any  goddess,  yet  none  has  ever  beheld  so  much  as 
her  face  quite  clearly,  it  is  said.  Always  she  is  sur 
rounded  by  a  dazzling  white  radiance,  an  aureole, 
which  the  strongest  eyes  have  not  been  able  to  pierce. 
Yet  men  declare  that  her  face  has  the  clear  whiteness 
of  alabaster,  her  eyes  are  like  the  moon,  and  her  hair 
like  a  floating,  silken  veil.  More  I  cannot  truthfully 
say. 

"  Her  vestments  have  been  offered  her  by  the  King 
himself  and  by  the  priests  of  the  great  gods.  They 
are  such  as  Nitokris  never  wore  and  queens  might 
sigh  over  with  envy.  Yet  they  seem  too  coarse  and 
poor  to  proffer  to  such  a  being. 

"  The  first  sign  of  Istar 's  divinity  is  the  music  that 
continually  follows  her  presence.  They  say  that 


THE    VOW  23 

those  who  hear  the  sounds  as  she  passes  are  over 
come,  and  fall  upon  the  dust,  or  reel  away  like  drunken 
men  affected  by  fumes  of  wine.  What  this  music  is 
— bells  or  chords  of  the  lyre  or  notes  from  the  flute — 
no  man  has  ever  told,  for  when  the  sounds  cease,  every 
memory  of  them,  save  that  of  the  ecstasy  of  listening, 
leaves  him  who  has  heard.  And  at  sunset  every 
night,  when  the  goddess  has  retired  to  her  sanctuary 
to  commune  with  the  great  gods  in  solitude,  there 
issue  from  the  ziggurat  sounds  so  marvellous  that  the 
priestesses  and  hierodules  flee  the  neighborhood  of 
the  tower  in  the  fear  that,  hearing,  they  may  lose  their 
reason. 

"Istar  is  possessed  of  all  knowledge.  She  speaks 
to  each  man  in  his  native  tongue — Chaldaic,  Aramaic, 
Hebrew,  Phoenician,  or  Egyptian — and  on  feast  days 
she  converses  with  the  gods,  her  brothers,  in  that 
unknown  language  spoken  by  their  statues.  Bel  and 
Nebo  come  forth  from  their  shrines  to  receive  her; 
Marduk  and  Shamash  embrace  her,  their  sister.  Sin, 
her  father,  sends  to  her  temple  blood  -  offerings  and 
heave-offerings  of  oxen  and  of  doves. 

"And  men,"  asked  the  shepherd,  still  staring  into 
the  flames — "  what  do  the  men  who  have  eyes  to  look 
upon  her?" 

"  Of  those  that  have  dared,  some  become  as  children 
that  know  no  more  what  they  do.  A  few,  it  is  said, 
have  died,  but  these  she  raises  from  the  kingdom 
of  death  and  returns  again  to  the  world  to  fulfil  their 
rightful  time.  Others  still  have  given  their  manhood 
in  order  to  join  the  order  of  temple  -  servants  attached 
to  her  sanctuary. 

"For  all  these  reasons  the  temple  of  Istar  has  be 
come  more  famous  than  any  other  in  the  East,  and  the 
name  of  Istar,  the  living  goddess,  is  in  every  mouth. 
Many  Egyptians  from  Memphis  and  Thebes  have 
taken  the  long  journey  to  Babylon  for  the  purpose  of 
beholding  her;  and  in  the  land  of  the  Nile  each  man 


24  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

prays  that  Isis  may  show  her  people  favor  and  appear 
before  them  incarnate.  She  has  shaken  the  faith 
of  the  Jews  in  their  one  God.  Phrygia  and  Lydia 
send  yearly  offerings  to  her  in  the  great  city.  And  in 
Tyre  itself  we  were  to  build  a  new  temple  to  Astarte, 
where  a  six  months'  sacrifice  and  festival  would  be 
held,  in  the  hope  that  our  great  goddess  of  fertility 
might  appear  before  us  in  her  double  form.  And 
that,  0  Charmides,  is  all  that  I  can  relate  to  you  con 
cerning  the  Lady  of  Babylon." 

"It  seems  that  Charmides  sleeps  over  the  tale,  or 
else  that  he  is  drunken  with  the  mere  thought  of  the 
divine  personage.  Wake,  rhapsode!  Tune  your  lyre 
and  sing  for  us  the  inspired  ode  that  hangs  upon  your 
lips!"  cried  Phalaris,  rather  ill-naturedly,  and  with  a 
supercilious  smile  at  his  brother. 

Charmides  did  not  stir.  A  thoughtful  frown  puck 
ered  his  forehead,  and  he  appeared  oblivious  of  Phalaris' 
mockery.  Theron,  seeing  that  the  Phoenician  was  a 
little  crestfallen  with  the  ill-success  of  his  story,  made 
haste  to  express  his  interest  in  it,  and  to  ask  a  further 
question  or  two  upon  the  matter,  without,  however, 
infusing  much  enthusiasm  into  his  tone.  Heraia  fol 
lowed  her  husband's  lead  with  less  effort.  She  had 
in  her  the  original  strain  of  poetry  that  had  been 
extended  to  her  younger  son,  but  was  entirely  lacking 
in  Theron  and  Phalaris.  Therefore,  being  imagina 
tive  and  a  woman,  Heraia  had  no  difficulty  in  crediting 
Kabir's  words,  and  she  also  understood  Charmides' 
present  mood  as  none  of  the  others  could. 

Now  ensued  a  pause  extremely  uncomfortable  to 
three  of  the  group.  Only  Phalaris  was  undisturbed 
by,  and  Charmides  oblivious  of,  its  distressing  length. 
The  shepherd  finally  turned  his  head  and  shifted  his 
gaze  to  the  Phoenician's  face,  where  his  eyes  remained 
fixed  for  two  or  three  minutes  in  a  contemplative  scru 
tiny.  Then  he  drew  a  long  breath,  returned  into  the 
present,  and,  rising,  moved  slowly  to  the  door  again. 


THE    VOW  25 

From  there  he  glanced  at  his  mother,  and  was  about  to 
speak,  when  Phalaris  reached  over  to  the  chest  near 
which  he  sat,  drew  forth  from  it  a  lyre  inlaid  with 
ivory,  and  held  it  out  to  his  brother. 

"A  hymn,  Charmides,  to  Astarte.  I  can  read  one 
written  in  your  eyes." 

Charmides  flushed  scarlet.  The  eyes  of  the  stranger 
were  on  him,  and  he  felt  a  sudden  pang  of  inexpressible 
shame  at  the  laughter  of  his  brother's  tone. 

"Have  no  fear,  little  athlete!"  he  responded,  slowly, 
"an  ode  will  be  ready  for  you  when  you  overthrow 
Theocles  in  the  festival  games.  But  I  think  I  need  not 
hurry  in  composing  it.  Morpheus  attend  you  all.  I 
am  going  to  my  bed."  And,  turning  upon  his  heel, 
without  looking  at  the  still  proffered  instrument,  he 
strode  off  to  the  room  which  he  was  to  share  with  Pha 
laris  and  the  stranger. 

Charmides'  anger  always  passed  as  rapidly  as  it 
rose.  To-night,  by  the  time  he  had  disrobed  and  made 
his  prayer  to  Apollo  and  Father  Zeus,  his  mind  was 
once  more  in  a  state  of  truce  with  Phalaris,  and  he 
determined  to  make  peace  with  his  brother  as  soon  as 
he  'found  opportunity;  for  Phalaris  felt  the  sting  of 
a  sharp  speech  till  it  was  healed  by  the  balm  of  a 
very  humble  apology. 

Once  ready  for  the  night  the  shepherd  drew  his  light 
couch  under  the  one  unshuttered  window  of  the  room, 
and  laid  him  down  so  that  his  eyes  might  rest  upon  the 
heavens  before  he  slept,  and  where  he  could  watch  the 
rising  of  the  sun  when  he  woke  again.  By  this  time 
the  last  shred  of  the  storm-cloud  had  disappeared  from 
on  high,  and  the  moon,  which  was  all  but  in  the  full, 
flooded  the  night  with  silver.  Its  luminous  radiance 
melted  over  the  shepherd's  face  and  caused  his  locks 
to  shine  palely.  Charmides  lay  watching  the  beams 
\vith  wide-open  eyes.  In  spite  of  his  very  unusual 
exertions  of  the  afternoon,  and  the  nervous  strain  that 
he  had  endured  in  watching  for  men  from  the  wreck, 


26  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

he  had  never  been  further  from  sleep  than  to-night. 
His  mind  was  unusually  active,  and,  try  as  he  would, 
he  could  not  turn  his  thoughts  from  one  subject — the 
thing  that  Phalaris  had  tried  to  shame  away,  the  in 
credible  tale  told  by  the  Phoenician  about  the  Aphro 
dite  of  the  East.  Charmides  knew  well  enough  how 
his  father  and  brother  would  laugh  at  him  for  allowing 
himself  to  think  seriously  for  one  moment  about  that 
idealized  being,  who,  in  all  probability,  lived  only  in 
the  depths  of  the  trader's  imagination.  Nevertheless, 
Kabir's  few  words  had  conjured  up  to  Charmides' 
quick  fancy  a  singularly  real  shape,  and  in  the  solitary 
night  his  thoughts  played  about  her  continually,  now 
with  eager  delight,  again  reluctantly  and  irresistibly. 
Once,  twice,  thrice  he  tried  to  escape  from  her,  but  she 
refused  to  be  banished.  He  saw  her  slipping  down 
towards  him  from  a  great  height,  on  the  path  of  a  moon 
beam.  With  a  sigh  of  renunciation  he  resolutely  turned 
his  head.  Still  she  did  not  go.  Nay,  flashing -in  an 
aureole  of  white  light,  her  face  veiled  from  him,  di 
vinity  crying  from  every  curve  of  her  figure,  she  ad 
vanced  more  definitely  than  before,  from  the  corners 
of  the  room.  A  quiver  of  painful  delight  stirred  Char 
mides'  heart.  He  closed  his  eyes.  Then  she  came 
out  of  the  depths  of  his  own  brain,  in  a  sea  of  rain 
bow  mist,  with  faint  chimes  of  distant  bells  ringing 
around  her,  a  veil  of  silken  hair  covering  her  beneath 
the  mantle  of  light.  At  last  he  was  quite  beneath  her 
spell.  Fragments  of  hexameter,  of  great  beauty  and 
great  indistinctness,  rose  in  his  mind.  And  presently, 
lo!  an  ode,  the  first  of  any  depth  that  had  ever  come 
to  him,  became  possible.  Here  were  the  first  lines 
of  it,  lying  ready  to  his  tongue.  He  whispered  them 
once  to  himself,  delightedly,  and  then  banished  them 
with  resolution.  He  must  first  obtain  his  form.  The 
structure  must  be  broad  enough  adequately  to  express 
the  thought  born  in  him  by  the  secret  inspiration  of 
the  night. 


THE    VOW  27 

An  hour  passed,  and  the  white  light  of  the  moon 
crept  slowly  over  the  shepherd's  head  into  the  far 
corners  of  the  room.  Charmides  lay  with  closed  eyes 
and  lips  compressed,  the  vision  growing  clearer  and 
his  task  more  intricate.  Mere  words  began  to  be  in 
adequate.  How  many  men,  how  many  women,  how 
many  lifeless  things,  even,  have  been  extolled  in  match 
less  syllables?  And  how  was  he  as  far  to  surpass  all 
these  lines  as  his  subject  surpassed  the  subjects  of 
his  predecessors?  He  grew  more  and  more  troubled, 
and  the  labor  of  his  mind  was  painful.  Intoxication 
was  gone.  The  time  of  work,  of  unexalted  concentra 
tion,  was  upon  him.  Into  the  midst  of  this  second 
stage,  however,  came  Phalaris  and  Kabir,  sleepy,  yet 
talking  pleasantly  together  in  unsubdued  tones.  Char 
mides  clenched  his  hand,  but  did  not  unclose  his  eyes. 
For  twenty  minutes  he  lay  in  an  agony  of  broken 
thought.  Then  his  self-control  was  rewarded.  He 
was  left  alone  once  more  in  the  night,  with  only  the 
light,  regular  breathing  of  two  unconscious  men  to 
disturb  his  thoughts. 

Through  the  misty  hours  sleep  did  not  visit  the 
shepherd,  yet  neither  did  he  accomplish  his  desire. 
He  watched  the  pale  moon  faint  from  the  sky  and  the 
white  stars  melt,  one  by  one,  into  the  tender  dawn. 
Sunrise  found  him  spent,  exhausted,  and  bitter  with 
disappointment;  for  the  burning  night  had  left  no 
trace  of  its  fever  save  in  deep  circles  under  his  eyes 
and  a  hungering  anxiety  over  something  that  he  could 
not  name. 

Theron  and  Phalaris  were  up  betimes,  and,  before 
they  had  finished  the  morning  libation,  were  joined  by 
Charmides  and  Kabir.  During  breakfast  the  stranger 
talked  to  Theron  about  the  galley,  and  the  length  of 
time  it  would  take  before  she  could  be  rendered  fit  to 
continue  again  upon  her  voyage. 

"You  were  going  home?"  asked  the  Selinuntian. 

"Yes.     We  should  stop  at  the  Sikelian  cities  as  far 


28  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

as  Syracuse,  passing  then  eastward  through  the  isl 
ands,  touching  at  Crete,  Naxos,  perhaps,  and  Cyprus. 
Our  voyage  had  been  too  long  already. 

"  Well,  if  3^0  u  are  ready,"  observed  Theron,  rising, 
"we  will  go  down  to  the  shore  at  once  to  find  out  the 
condition  of  the  galley.  And  while  you  remain  in 
Selinous,  Kabir,  we  beg  that  you  will  make  our  hearth 
your  home." 

The  Phoenician  gratefully  expressed  his  thanks. 
Then,  as  Theron  and  Phalaris  moved  together  towards 
the  door,  evidently  expecting  him  to  follow  them,  Kabir 
turned  to  Charmides,  who  remained  in  the  background. 

"Do  you  not  come  with  us?"  he  asked. 

The  Greek  hurriedly  shook  his  head.  "I  take  the 
flock  to  pasture,"  he  explained;  and  so  the  Phoenician 
turned  away. 

By  the  time  the  three  men  reached  the  shore  below 
the  city,  the  sun  was  two  hours  high  and  the  beach 
was  lined  with  Selinuntians  and  Tyrians,  all  talk 
ing  together  about  the  best  method  for  pulling  the 
galley  from  between  the  two  rocks  where  she  still  lay, 
fast  wedged.  As  soon  as  Kabir  made  his  appearance 
a  tall  fellow,  in  a  deep-red  robe,  hurried  up  to  him  with 
expressions  of  delight.  Kabir  saluted  him  as  an  equal, 
and  presently  brought  him  up  to  Theron  and  Phalaris, 
introducing  him  as  Eshmun,  captain  of  the  Fish  of 
Tyre.  Then  followed  among  the  four  of  them  an 
earnest  conversation  as  to  the  length  of  time  needed 
for  repairs  after  the  ship  was  once  more  in  clear  water. 

"Prayers  and  libations  to  Melkart  and  Baal  have 
been  offered  up,"  observed  Eshmun,  piously,  "and 
men  in  the  city  are  already  at  work  making  new  oars. 
Yonder  on  the  beach  are  all  the  small  boats,  which  are 
to  be  manned  by  our  sailors  and  the  young  men  of 
the  city.  They,  proceeding  to  the  Fish,  will  lay  hold 
of  her  stern  with  ropes,  and,  all  pulling  in  the  same 
direction,  by  the  aid  of  the  gods  we  shall  hope  to  get 
her  out. 


THE    VOW  29 

"And  the  galley-slaves?"  queried  Kabir.  "What 
has  been  done  with  them?" 

"May  Bacchus  confound  them!  Last  night,  before 
leaving  the  ship,  I  persuaded  Sydyk  into  loosening 
their  chains,  and  when  Sydyk,  at  sunrise,  reached 
the  galley,  he  found  every  man  of  them  sprawled  out 
on  deck  in  a  drunken  sleep.  They  had  used  up  four 
casks  of  the  best  Massilian  wine!  Sydyk  had  them 
whipped  back  to  their  places,  where  they  are  now 
chained,  waiting  to  help  push  the  ship  off  with  their 
unbroken  oars." 

Up  to  this  point  Theron  and  his  son  stoood  beside 
Kabir,  listening  attentively  to  the  Phoenician  tongue, 
which  was  just  unfamiliar  enough  to  demand  close 
attention.  But  now  Phalaris,  seeing  that  the  small 
boats  were  being  rapidly  manned,  went  off  to  join 
one  of  them.  Theron  walked  leisurely  after  his  son 
towards  a  group  of  elders,  leaving  Kabir  with  Esh- 
mun.  For  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  the  Tyrians  con 
tinued  their  conversation,  and  then,  the  fleet  of  row- 
boats  being  ready  to  put  off,  the  captain  hurried 
away  to  take  command  of  the  operations,  and  his 
companion  was  left  alone  upon  the  shore. 

Kabir,  as  master-trader  of  the  vessel,  was  under  no 
obligation  to  do  anything  towards  the  assistance  of 
the  wreck.  Few  men,  perhaps,  would  have  considered 
this  freedom  as  a  reason  for  actually  taking  no  part 
in  the  affair  of  the  moment.  But  Kabir  was  one 
of  these  few.  He  was  by  nature  a  true  Phoenician, 
and  by  cultivation  a  true  merchant:  thoroughly  in 
dolent  where  his  immediate  advantage  was  not  con 
cerned;  good-natured  because  good-nature  made  men 
more  pliable  to  his  secret  will ;  keen  as  a  knife-blade, 
and  quite  indefatigable  in  any  matter  that  concerned 
his  or  his  employer's  profit;  indifferent  to  the  weal 
or  woe  of  his  nearest  friend,  so  long  as  by  that  woe 
or  weal  his  own  comfort  was  unconcerned.  He  stood 
now  on  the  beach  below  the  acropolis,  content  to  be 


30  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

alone,  sufficiently  occupied  with  the  scenes  of  beauty 
and  activity  before  him.  There,  far  to  the  south  and 
east,  stretched  the  sea,  smooth  and  blue,  sprinkled 
with  sun-sparkles,  a  lolling  roll  half-concealed  in  its 
mischievous  depths,  otherwise  bearing  not  a  trace 
of  last  night's  spasm  of  rage.  From  the  very  edge 
of  the  beach  out  to  a  distance  of  two  hundred  yards 
from  shore,  was  a  jumble  of  brown  rocks,  large  and 
small,  between  which  the  water  ran  in  little,  opalescent 
eddies,  forming  a  dangerous  and  threatening  boundary 
to  the  west  side  of  the  otherwise  peaceful  harbor.  Be 
tween  two  of  these  horned  rocks  lay  the  barnacled, 
dismasted  ship,  which  had  ventured  so  far  into  distant, 
perilous  seas,  to  be  brought  to  bay  at  last,  wounded 
and  weary,  by  the  shock  of  a  merry  Sicilian  thunder 
storm.  Half-way  between  ship  and  shore  thirty  small 
boats,  plied  vigorously  by  friendly  Greek  and  anx 
ious  Tyrian,  were  making  a  flashing  progress  to 
the  galley's  side;  while  all  along  the  shore  white- 
robed  Selinuntian  elders  and  fair -faced  Doric  wom 
en  watched  with  high  interest  the  movements  of  the 
boats. 

Once  and  again  Kabir  overlooked  the  scene.  Then, 
tired  of  standing,  and  undesirous  of  spending  the 
whole  morning  inactively,  he  turned  and  looked  around 
him,  up  the  rocky  height  of  the  temple-crowned  acrop 
olis.  An  ascent  into  the  city  seemed  the  most  feasi 
ble  method  of  amusement.  Therefore  he  proceeded 
leisurely  towards  the  nearest  upward  path,  when, 
somewhat  to  his  amazement,  he  perceived  the  figure 
of  Charmides  coming  rapidly  towards  him  along  the 
beach.  The  moment  his  eyes  met  those  of  the  youth 
the  shepherd's  pace  grew  perceptibly  slower. 

"I  will  avoid  him,  then,"  thought  the  Phoenician, 
calmly,  and  thereupon,  \vith  a  distant  salutation,  he 
started  forward  once  more  to  the  upward  path.  To 
his  further  surprise  this  act  brought  Charmides  has 
tily  to  his  side. 


THE    VOW  31 

"Where  is  thy  flock,  0  rhapsode?"  inquired  Kabir, 
lightly,  in  the  manner  of  Phalaris. 

"In  care  of  Sardeis.     I  was  seeking  you." 

"And  your  purpose?    What  may  I  do?" 

"N — nothing.  I  thought  you  might  desire,  per 
haps,  to  see  the  city.  Shall  I  conduct  you  to  the 
agora?  Would  you  like  to  see  our  temples?  —  and 
the  statues?  —  and  the  new  pediment  that  Eumenides 
is  making  for  the  basilica?" 

"  Very  much.  I  was,  indeed,  just  about  to  go  alone 
up  to  the  city,"  replied  Kabir,  courteously.  But 
while  the  youth  began  abruptly  to  ascend  the  path 
in  front  of  him,  Kabir  was  wondering,  in  rather  a 
puzzled  way,  what  could  be  the  reason  for  the  young 
Greek's  sudden  solicitude  for  his  amusement,  and  for 
the  want  of  interest  in  what  should  have  been  his 
first  object  of  inquiry  —  the  galley's  rescue  from  the 
rocks. 

The  two  of  them  passed  in  silence  through  the  well- 
kept  street  that  led  to  the  agora  from  the  west,  and 
had  almost  reached  the  height  of  the  acropolis  before 
a  further  word  was  spoken  between  them.  Kabir's 
curiosit}^  was  turning  to  amusement,  and  he  was  in 
clined  to  put  the  shepherd  down  as  half-witted,  when 
the  boy  turned  on  him  and  burst  out,  as  if  driven  to 
the  speech : 

"  Kabir,  tell  me,  was  that  that  you  were  saying  last 
night — about  the  goddess  of  Babylon — true  or  not? 
Is  there  such  a  being,  or  is  she  but  an  invention  of 
your  mind?  I  conjure  vou,  if  you  have  pity,  tell  me 
the  truth!" 

As  he  spoke,  Charmides,  from  being  very  pale,  had 
flushed  crimson,  and  his  young  eyes  burned  with 
unquenchable  fire.  A  sudden,  unique  revelation  was 
borne  in  upon  the  Phoenician,  and  he  willingly  passed 
over  the  blunt  suggestion  in  the  shepherd's  question, 
in  the  pleasure  of  finding  what  was,  to  him,  an  entirely 
novel  bent  of  mind.  While  they  proceeded,  then,  on 


32  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

their  way  to  the  market-place,  Kabir  replied  to  the 
substance  of  Charmides'  new  queries. 

"I  told  you  the  truth  last  evening,  shepherd;  as 
much  truth,  indeed,  as  I  knew.  I  myself  have  never 
been  in  Babylon,  and  therefore  have  not,  with  mine 
own  eyes,  seen  the  goddess.  But  others,  my  friends, 
on  returning  to  Tyre  from  the  great  city,  have  been 
able  to  talk  of  nothing  but  Istar,  this  living  divinity. 
Yet  it  is  many  months  since  I  was  at  home.  By  now 
she  may  have  returned  to  the  skies,  from  which,  they 
say,  she  came.  But  that  there  was  once  such  a  being 
on  earth  I  know;  else  I  and  all  men  of  the  East  are 
gone  suddenly  demented." 

"But  her  face — how  do  you  imagine  it?  Her  form 
— is  it  like  a  woman's?  Tell  me,  Kabir!  Tell  me 
more  of  her!" 

"How  can  I,  never  having  looked  upon  her?  How 
shall  I  imagine  what  no  man,  seeing,  knows?" 

"Surely  you  know  of  the  music  that  surrounds 
her.  Whence  does  it  appear  to  come?  Is  it  the  sound 
of  lyre  or  flute;  or  perhaps  of  many  instruments  to 
gether?  Perhaps  some  hint  of  its  melody  is — " 

"Shepherd,  shepherd!  Have  I  not  told  you  that 
I  know  nothing  of  it?  Said  I  not  last  night  that  that 
music  drove  mad  those  that  listened  ?  Lyres !  Flutes ! 
How  could  I  know?  How  should  I  guess?" 

"It  is  unbearable,  this  yearning.  I  am  kept  from 
sleep.  I  cannot  eat.  I  am  haunted  by  a  face  that 
I  cannot  see,  lines  that  will  not  rise  out  of  the  chaos 
in  which  they  lie.  And  no  man  will  tell  me  what  he 
knowrs.  No  man — no  man." 

The  shepherd  muttered  these  words  to  himself  so 
incoherently  that  Kabir  could  scarcely  distinguish 
one  from  another.  Suddenly,  however,  Charmides 
lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  the  Phoenician  with  a 
deep  sadness  in  his  eyes.  "  Kabir  1"  he  exclaimed, 
softly,  "I  am  possessed!" 

"Truly,  I  think  you  are!"  growled  the  trader  to 


THE    VOW  33 

himself.  But  with  Charmides  he  abruptly  changed 
the  subject  of  conversation,  and  said,  in  a  very  differ 
ent  tone,  with  a  phlegmatic  smile :  "  It  is  my  turn  for 
questioning  now.  We  are  here  in  the  agora,  and  you 
have  told  me  as  yet  nothing  of  the  temples,  which  are, 
so  far  as  I  can  judge,  most  worthy  of  their  gods." 

Charmides  restrained  a  sigh  of  impatience,  but  his 
disappointment  showed  plainly  in  his  face.  However, 
his  native  courtesy  and  his  training  in  hospitality  did 
not  desert  him,  and  for  the  next  hour  he  devoted  him 
self  to  his  task  so  successfully  that  Kabir  was  well 
pleased  with  him.  The  boy's  effort  to  keep  his  mind 
fixed  upon  immediate  matters  did  not  escape  the  Phoeni 
cian,  who,  before  the  morning  was  over,  conceived  a 
very  different  idea  of  the  shepherd's  character.  On 
the  whole,  the  last  half  of  the  morning  was  much 
more  enjoyable  to  him  than  the  first. 

At  this  time,  in  the  spring  of  the  five  hundred  and 
thirty-ninth  year  before  the  birth  of  Christ,  the  Hy- 
blean  city  was  in  the  height  of  its  prosperity  as 
an  independent  Doric  colony;  and  its  citizens  had 
taken  a  generous  and  a  reverent  pride  in  the  adorn 
ment  of  their  acropolis  and  of  the  opposite  hill,  both 
of  which  were  wreathed  with  temples  which,  in  con 
ception  and  erection,  will  never  be  surpassed.  Kabir 
looked  appreciatively  at  the  agora,  surrounded  as  it 
was  with  the  fluted  columns  of  the  sanctuaries  of 
Demeter,  Apollo,  and  Zeus,  and  the  somewhat  too 
.square  basilica.  The  market-place  teemed  with  life. 
A  sacrifice  and  prayer  to  Father  Zeus  was  in  prog 
ress,  and  white-robed  priests  passed  to  and  fro  among 
the  youths  and  maids  of  the  open  school,  the  slaves 
who  came  for  water  from  the  central  fountain,  or  the 
venders  of  grains,  fruit,  and  flowers  that  accosted  one 
at  every  step.  Passing  out  of  the  agora,  after  a  con 
siderable  time  spent  in  viewing  its  pleasant  gayety, 
the  stranger  and  his  shepherd  guide  went  back  to 
examine  the  stone  fort  which  rendered  this  eminence 


34  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

utterly  impregnable  upon  its  north  side;  and  then 
they  followed  the  high  stone  wall  southward  along 
the  edge  of  the  cliff  till  they  reached  the  south 
eastern  gate  of  Hystaspes.  Through  this  Charmides 
passed  rapidly,  and  led  the  way  along  well-paved 
streets  down  into  the  valley  of  the  Hypsas  River,  which 
separated  the  acropolis  from  the  east  hill.  Crossing 
the  little  bridge  on  foot,  the  two  began  their  second 
ascent  up  the  eminence  where  stood  Charmides'  home, 
near  which  were  three  other  temples — one  to  Hecate, 
one  to  Hera,  and  the  third,  half  finished,  dedicated  to 
the  patron  god  of  the  city,  Apollo,  and  destined  to  be 
the  largest  temple  of  them  all  and  the  third  largest  in 
the  Greek  world. 

The  walk  had  proved  long,  and  the  last  part  of  the 
way  was  difficult.  Kabir  was  glad  enough  to  sit 
and  rest  in  the  portico  of  Hera's  shrine,  looking  out 
over  the  brow  of  the  hill  down  to  the  rocky  harbor 
where  the  galley  still  obstinately  stuck.  Charmides 
had  ceased  to  talk,  and  his  companion  asked  no  more 
questions  about  the  city.  It  was  in  perfect  amica 
bility,  yet  in  perfect  silence,  that  the  two  finished  their 
short  walk  to  Theron's  house.  The  young  Greek  had 
fallen  into  a  reverie  from  which  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  rouse  him;  and  he  moved  with  his  eyes 
fixed  sometimes  in  the  clouds,  more  often  on  the 
ground,  while  his  mouth  drooped  and  his  expression 
grew  more  and  more  grave.  Kabir  glanced  occasion 
ally  at  his  companion,  needing  no  interpreter  to  de 
termine  the  subject  of  his  thoughts,  but  himself  far 
more  interested  in  the  question  as  to  whether  there 
would  be  meat,  or  merely  bread,  cheese,  wine,  and 
fruit  at  the  noon  meal  to  which  they  were  going. 

As  it  turned  out,  there  was  mutton,  well  spitted, 
and  done  to  a  turn,  a  double  portion  of  which  was 
easily  obtainable,  for  Phalaris  did  not  come  up  from 
the  harbor,  and  Charmides  sat  staring  absently  into 
space,  while  Theron,  Heraia,  and  their  guest  ate  and 


THE    VOW  35 

discussed  the  events  of  the  morning.  The  galley, 
it  appeared,  had  been  moved  a  little,  but  was  not  yet 
completely  out  of  the  clutches  of  the  rocks.  It  was 
hoped,  however,  that  by  nightfall  she  would,  by  the 
combined  strength  of  the  oars  and  the  small  boats, 
be  got  off  and  safely  beached  in  a  spot  where  the  car 
penters  could  begin  work  upon  her  crushed  sides  and 
torn  bottom. 

"It  will  be  a  matter  of  fifteen  days,  however,  before 
she  can  continue  her  voyage.  There  is  far  more  to 
be  done  upon  her  than  we  thought  at  first.  Mean 
time,  0  Kabir,  our  dwelling  is  yours." 

"May  the  gods  duly  requite  your  hospitality,  good 
friends!"  returned  Kabir,  as  the  four  of  them  rose 
from  the  table. 

After  the  meal  Kabir  went  down  into  the  harbor 
with  his  host,  and  Charmides  sought  the  fields  with 
his  flock,  not  returning  till  an  hour  after  sunset.  The 
family  was  seated  at  supper  when  he  appeared.  His 
unusual  tardiness  elicited  a  remark  or  two  from  his 
father;  but  Heraia,  reading  the  weariness  in  his  eyes, 
forbore  to  question  him.  It  required  forbearance,  in 
deed,  for  she  found  something  in  the  shepherd's  face 
that  had  not  been  there  before ;  and  on  the  meaning  of 
it  she  speculated  in  vain. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had  eaten  little  at  noon, 
and  that  his  afternoon  had  been  unusually  long,  Char 
mides  took  nothing  to-night.  Kabir  watched  him  dis 
creetly,  interested  in  his  state,  the  cause  of  which  he 
alone  so  much  as  suspected.  Phalaris  was  weary  after 
his  long  day  at  the  oars,  and  showed  his  displeasure 
with  his  brother  for  making  no  inquiry  as  to  the  gal 
ley's  progress  by  utterly  ignoring  Charmides  after  the 
first  word  of  greeting.  The  rather  uncomfortable  meal 
at  an  end,  Heraia  ventured  a  customary  request. 

"Come,  Charmides,  get  thy  lyre  or  flute,  and  play 
to  us.  The  sheep  have  been  hearing  thee  all  afternoon. 
Give  us,  also,  music  to-night." 


36  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

None  of  the  others  echoed  the  request.  Theron  rare 
ly  encouraged  either  son  in  his  chosen  profession, 
though  he  was  as  interested  in  their  success  as  they 
themselves..  Phalaris  still  sulked,  unnoticed ;  and  the 
Phoenician  was  too  anxious  for  an  opportunity  of 
judging  his  new  protege's  ability  to  risk  protest  by 
undue  urging.  He  was  fortunate  in  choosing  the 
passive  course.  At  his  mother's  request,  Charmides 
rose  at  once  and  brought  out  his  well-strung  lyre. 
Seating  himself  in  a  corner  of  the  open  door-way,  and 
looking  out  upon  the  night,  he  struck  two  or  three 
thin,  minor  chords.  Then,  in  a  voice  whose  limpid 
tenor  Kabir  had  never  heard  equalled,  he  sang.  It 
was  a  melody  well  known  to  all  Greeks,  but  trans 
posed  from  the  major  to  the  minor  key.  The  words 
were  Charmides'  own — of  exquisite  simplicity — twenty 
lines  on  the  grief  and  weariness  of  a  lost  Pleiad.  It 
rose  gradually  to  a  plaintive  climax,  and  ended  in  a 
tired  pianissimo.  There  was  no  applause.  None  of 
his  audience  and  neither  of  the  slaves  cared  to  break 
silence  as  the  shepherd  rose  and  returned  the  instru 
ment  to  its  place.  Kabir  thirsted  for  more;  and  pres 
ently  Theron,  with  a  little  effort,  asked,  softly : 

"Why  do  you  stop?" 

"Father,  I  am  tired.  Grant  me  permission  to  go  to 
my  bed." 

"Permission  need  not  be  asked.  Get  thee  away, 
and  the  gods  send  you  dreamless  sleep." 

Half  an  hour  later  Phalaris  and  the  Phoenician  fol 
lowed  the  shepherd's  example,  and  Theron  and  his 
wife  also  sought  a  willing  rest.  The  athlete  made 
quick  work  of  preparing  for  the  night,  and,  almost 
upon  the  instant  of  his  lying  down,  fell  fast  asleep. 
Kabir  was  slower.  He  had  disrobed  as  promptly  as 
his  companion,  but  he  did  not  immediately  lay  him 
down.  As  on  the  previous  evening,  the  window  was 
open,  and  the  moonlight  streamed  over  Charmides' 
bed.  Kabir  stole  across  the  room  to  look  out  upon 


THE    VOW  37 

the  night,  moving  noiselessly,  that  he  might  not  dis 
turb  the  shepherd,  who,  since  the  others  entered  the 
room,  had  lain  motionless.  The  Phoenician,  stand 
ing  over  him,  brought  his  eyes  slowly  from  the  moon 
to  the  fair  face  belowr  him,  and  gave  a  quick,  un 
feigned  start  to  find  Charmides'  eyes  wide  open,  star 
ing  up  at  him.  Neither  of  them  spoke.  Kabir,  in 
unaccountable  confusion,  quickly  returned  to  his  own 
couch  and  lay  down  upon  it,  far  wider  awake  than  he 
had  been  ten  minutes  before. 

Now  ensued  a  period  of  silence  and  of  uneasiness. 
The  shepherd,  his  form  flooded  with  silver  light,  lay 
immovable,  eyes  still  unclosed,  hands  clenched,  brain 
on  fire,  listening  mechanically  to  the  regular  breath 
ing  of  Phalaris,  and  waiting  eagerly,  anxiously, 
tensely,  for  the  same  sound  from  the  couch  of  the 
Phoenician.  His  nerves,  too  highly  strung,  twitched 
and  pulled.  His  body  gradually  grew  numb.  And 
still,  while  he  waited,  ears  pricked,  eyes  brilliant, 
Kabir  refused  to  sleep.  The  moon  rode  in  mid-heav 
ens  before  the  sign  came.  At  last  the  faint  snores 
sounded  like  muffled  drum -taps,  one — twro — three 
— four — five.  A  long  sigh  escaped  Charmides'  lips. 
For  one  blessed  instant  his  muscles  relaxed.  Then 
he  rose  swiftly,  drew  on  his  day  tunic,  threw  about 
him  the  chlamys  that  Phalaris  had  worn,  and  slipped 
noiselessly  from  the  room.  For  a  moment  after 
his  disappearance  everything  remained  quiet  be 
hind  him.  Then,  suddenly,  Kabir's  snores  ceased, 
and  he  sai  cautiously  up.  Yes,  Charmides  was  really 
gone.  The  Phoenician  rose  and  passed  over  to  the 
door.  The  living-room  was  empty  and  the  outer  door 
open  to  the  night.  Throwing  on  as  much  clothing 
as  he  needed  in  the  mild  air,  the  trader  hurried  out 
side  and  looked  about  him,  first  towards  the  sea, 
then  along  the  path  to  the  city.  Upon  this,  walk 
ing  swiftly,  and  already  far  on  his  moonlit  way, 
went  the  shepherd.  Kabir,  with  a  kind  of  wonder- 


38  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

ment  at  his  own   curiosity,   started  at  a  half-run  to 
follow. 

Evidently  Charmides  was  bound  for  a  definite  spot. 
He  moved  straight  along  through  the  rank  grass,  gorse, 
and  wild  onion  that  here  took  the  place  of  near-growing 
daisies  and  sweet  alyssum,  and,  looking  neither  to  the 
right  nor  left,  passed  along  the  path  to  the  acropolis. 

The  shepherd  was  acting  on  what  was  hardly  an 
impulse.  His  strange  action  had  been  irresistibly 
impelled  by  some  force  emanating  from  his  own  mind, 
and  yet  not  of  himself.  He  wished  to  be  upon  conse 
crated  ground,  in  the  precincts  of  a  temple,  where,  it 
seemed  to  him,  the  burning  thirst  of  his  imagination 
might  be  quenched.  In  obedience  to  his  guiding  voice, 
he  left  behind  him  the  temples  of  the  hill  on  which  he 
lived,  and  made  his  way  towards  the  abode  of  his  patron 
god  of  the  Silver  Bow,  who  had  for  years  been  worshipped 
on  the  acropolis,  and  wrhose  immense  temple  on  the 
other  hill  was  still  unfinished.  Charmides  had  brought 
with  him  his  lyre,  again  obeying  the  impulse,  though 
without  any  idea  of  how  he  was  to  use  it.  He  accom 
plished  most  of  his  journey,  indeed,  without  thought 
of  any  kind;  and  not  till  the  last,  sharp  ascent  up 
the  acropolis  road  was  begun  did  it  occur  to  him 
that,  at  this  hour  of  the  night,  he  might  not  pass 
the  guard  at  the  gate.  The  thought,  when  it  came, 
scarcely  troubled  him.  He  would  go  at  least  as  far  as 
he  could.  He  passed  rapidly  up  the  steep  slope,  Kabir 
following  noiselessly;  and,  as  they  drew  near  the 
gate  of  Dawn,  the  southeastern  opening  in  the  de 
fending  wall,  Charmides  saw  a  strange  thing.  The 
guard,  one  of  a  long-trained  company  for  whom  dis 
covered  slumber  at  his  post  meant  death,  sat  squat 
upon  the  ground,  his  helmeted  head  bowed  between  his 
knees,  sunk  in  a  deep  sleep.  The  passage  into  the 
agora  wras  open.  Charmides  and  the  other  passed  into 
the  empty  square,  finally  pausing  before  the  portico 
of  the  temple  of  Apollo. 


THE    VOW  39 

A  scene  of  supernal  beauty  confronted  them.  The 
great  market-place,  filled  from  dawn  to  dusk  with 
murmurous  life  of  the  city,  was  robed  by  night  in 
ineffable  stillness.  All  around,  the  white  columns 
rose  in  shadowy  beauty  to  their  high  architraves; 
while  the  ground  below  was  barred  with  fluted  shadows. 
The  wrarm,  perfume-laden  air  was  heavy  with  the 
essence  of  spring.  Below,  on  the  sides  of  the  hill, 
the  city  lay  asleep;  and  the  only  sound  that  broke 
the  universal  silence  wras  the  distant,  musical  swish 
of  the  rising  tide. 

In  the  midst  of  this  Charmides  stood,  half  panting, 
his  overwrought  mind  in  a  state  of  blankness.  Then, 
still  passively  obeying  his  guiding  impulse,  he  as 
cended  the  two  steps  that  led  into  the  portico  of  the 
temple  of  Apollo,  and,  after  hesitating  for  a  moment, 
entered  the  open  door-way.  By  the  light  of  the  two 
sacred  torches  that  burned  throughout  the  night  by 
the  altar  of  the  god,  the  youth  made  his  way  to  the 
high-walled  fane,  within  which  was  the  celebrated 
statue  of  the  Patron  of  Selinous.  Here,  in  the  dim, 
bluish  light,  with  the  cool  stillness  above  and  around 
him,  and  the  divine  presence  very  near,  the  shepherd 
fell  upon  one  knee  and  bowed  his  head  in  a  prayer, 
the  words  of  which  rose  to  his  lips  without  any  effort 
of  thought  on  his  part,  and  were  more  beautiful  than 
any  that  he  had  ever  heard  spoken  by  priest  or 
poet. 

When  he  had  finished  he  did  not  rise.  It  seemed 
to  him  that,  if  he  but  dared  to  lift  his  eyes,  he  should 
see  the  Lord  of  the  Silver  Bow  above  him,  in  all  his 
blinding  radiance.  Charmides'  head  swam.  A  cloud 
of  faintest  incense  enveloped  him.  His  parted  lips 
drank  in  air  that  affected  him  like  rare  old  wine. 
A  fine  intoxication  stole  upon  all  his  senses.  He 
waited,  breathlessly,  for  that  which  he  knew  at  last 
wras  to  come.  Yet  in  the  beginning  of  the  miracle 
his  heart  for  a  long  moment  ceased  to  beat,  and  he 


40  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

swayed   forward   till  he  lay   prone   upon   the  marble 
pavement. 

A  sound,  a  long  note,  thin  and  bright  and  finely 
drawn  as  silver  wire,  was  quivering  down  from  the 
dusk  of  the  uppermost  vault.  On  it  spun,  and  on, 
over  the  head  of  the  listener,  whose  every  nerve 
quivered  beneath  the  spell  of  its  vibration.  Time  had 
ceased  for  him,  and  he  did  not  know  whether  it  was 
a  moment  or  an  hour  before  the  single  note  became 
two,  then  three,  and  gradually  many  more,  which 
mingled  and  melted  together  in  a  stream  of  delicious 
harmony,  so  strange,  so  marvellous,  that  the  shepherd 
strained  ears  and  brain  in  an  agony  lest  he  should 
fail  to  catch  a  single  tone.  But  the  low  ^Eolian  chimes 
grew  fainter  after  a  little  while;  and  then,  at  the  pi 
anissimo,  there  entered  into  their  midst  something  that 
no  man  of  earth  had  as  yet  dreamed  of — a  mighty 
organ  note,  that  rose  and  swelled  through  the  mov 
ing  air  in  a  peal  of  such  majesty  that  Charmides,  trem 
bling  with  his  temerity,  rose  to  his  feet  and  looked  up. 
Nothing  unusual  was  to  be  seen  in  the  temple  room. 
Half-way  down,  between  the  frescoed  columns,  burned 
the  two  torches  before  the  empty  altar.  Yes,  and 
there,  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall,  stood  Kabir,  the 
Phoenician,  watching  quietly  the  movements  of  the 
shepherd.  Charmides  perceived  him,  but  failed  to 
wonder  at  his  presence.  It  was  natural  that  any  one 
should  wish  to  be  here  to-night.  Yet  how  could  any 
living  man  stand  unmoved  in  the  midst  of  such  a 
glory  of  sound  as  whirled  about  him  now?  The  lyre 
music  rose  anew  to  a  great  fortissimo,  high  above 
the  deeply  resonant  chords  of  the  sky-organ.  Flutes 
and  trumpets,  and  the  minor  notes  of  myriad  plain 
tive  flageolets,  and  a  high-pealing  chime  of  silver- 
throated  bells  joined  in  swinging  harmony,  finally 
resolving  into  such  a  paean  of  praise  that  Charmides 
was  carried  back  to  the  memories  of  many  a  former 
dream.  Shaking  the  dripping  sweat  from  his  fore- 


THE    VOW  41 

head,  he  stepped  forward  a  pace  or  two,  and,  lifting 
his  lyre,  joined  its  tones  and  those  of  his  pygmy  voice 
to  the  mighty  orchestra.  Though  he  was  unaware 
of  it,  he  had  never  sung  like  this  before.  The  inspira 
tion  of  his  surroundings  was  upon  him.  His  voice 
rang  forth,  clear  as  a  trumpet-call.  Strange  and 
beautiful  words  poured  from  his  lips;  words  that  he 
had  always  known,  yet  uttered  now  for  the  first  time. 
He  was  drawn  far  from  life.  He  was  on  the  threshold 
of  another  world,  into  which  he  could  see  dimly.  There, 
before  him,  poised  in  ether,  shining  ever  more  dis 
tinctly  through  the  rosy  cloud  that  enveloped  her, 
was  the  statue-like,  veil-swathed  form  of  a  woman. 
Tall,  lithe,  round  was  the  shape  that  he  beheld — the 
body  of  a  woman  of  earth,  and  yet  more,  and  less, 
than  that.  Neither  feature  nor  flesh  could  he  perceive 
through  the  radiance  that  surrounded  and  emanated 
from  her.  He  knew,  in  his  heart,  that  this  was  a 
goddess,  she  whom  his  soul  sought. 

"Ishtar!     Ishtar!     Ishtar  ka  Babilu!" 

Once,  twice,  thrice  he  cried  her  name,  in  descending 
minor  thirds,  while  all  the  bells  of  heaven  pealed  round 
them  both. 

"  Ishtar  of  Babilu,  I  come  to  seek  your  city !  Where 
3^ou  are,  there  I  shall  find  you.  Great  Apollo,  Lord 
of  the  Silver  Bow,  son  of  Latona  and  of  Father  Zeus, 
hear  me  and  heed  my  words:  I  will  seek  the  living 
goddess  where  she  dwrells  in  the  land  of  the  rising  sun. 
To  her  I  will  proffer  my  homage  ere  the  year  be  gone. 
If  I  fulfil  not  this  vow,  made  here  wdthin  thy  holy 
temple,  take  thou  my  body  for  the  dogs  to  feed  upon, 
and  let  my  spirit  cross  the  river  into  the  darkest  cavern 
of  Hades.  Lord  Son  of  Latona,  hear  my  vow!" 

With  the  last  words  Charmides  sank  again  upon 
his  knees,  his  face  still  uplifted  to  the  spot  whence 
his  vision  had  faded  into  blackness.  The  celestial 
music  ceased.  The  passiorjate  ecstasy  was  gone. 
Weak  and  exhausted  in  body  and  mind,  the  shep- 


42  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

herd  rose,  trembling,  and  began  to  move  towards  the 
entrance  of  the  temple.  The  light  from  the  sinking 
moon  streamed  white  through  the  open  door.  Pres 
ently,  from  the  shadows  behind  him,  Kabir  glided 
gently  up  to  the  youth,  wrho  was  groping  blindly 
forward. 

"I  heard  the  vow,"  said  the  Phrenician,  almost 
in  a  whisper.  "  Will  you,  then,  sail  with  us  when  we 
depart  again  in  our  galley,  to  Tyre,  on  your  way  into 
Babylon  of  the  East?" 

For  a  moment  Charmides  stared  at  the  man  in 
wonderment.  He  was  coming  back  to  life.  Then  he 
nodded  slowly,  and  with  dry  lips  answered : 

"You  heard  the  vow.     You  have  said  it." 


Ill 

INTO    THE    EAST 

NEXT  morning  Kabir  opened  his  eyes  earlier  than 
might  have  been  expected,  considering  his  noc 
turnal  exercise  and  the  hour  at  which  he  had  finally 
retired.  Charmides  was  performing  ablutions  with 
water  from  an  earthen  jar,  and  talking  amicably,  if 
absent-mindedly,  with  his  brother,  who  was  ready 
dressed.  The  Phrenician  rose  hastily,  and  began  his 
usual  toilet,  while  Phalaris,  after  giving  him  morning 
greeting,  and  bidding  the  shepherd  have  a  care  not 
to  drown  himself,  left  them  for  the  more  satisfying 
charms  of  breakfast. 

On  their  way  back  from  the  acropolis,  on  the  pre 
vious  night,  Kabir  and  Charmides  had  not  spoken  to 
each  other.  Therefore  the  one  question  and  answer 
before  they  left  the  temple  was  the  only  conversation 
they  had  had  on  the  subject  of  the  inspiration  and  its 
result.  This  morning,  then,  the  moment  that  Pha 
laris  disappeared,  Charmides  set  down  the  water-jar, 
turned  sharply  about,  and,  looking  searchingly  into 
his  companion's  face,  asked : 

"Kabir — have  I  dreamed?" 

"Dreamed?     Where?     How?" 

A  sudden  light  sprang  into  the  shepherd's  face. 
"You  were  not  with  me,  then,  last  night,  in  the  tem 
ple  of  Apollo?" 

"Certainly  I  was  —  and  heard  the  hymn  you  sang 
to  the  Babylonian  goddess.  That  was  an  inspira- 


44  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

tion,  Charmides.  Can  you  recall  the  words  and  the 
rhythm  this  morning?" 

But  Charmides  shrank  from  the  question.  He  had 
become  very  pale.  After  a  long  silence,  during  which 
Kabir,  much  puzzled,  strove  to  understand  his  mood, 
he  asked  again,  faintly: 

"And  the  vow?    I  vowed  to  Apollo — " 

"To  seek  the  Babylonian  goddess;  to  proffer  her 
homage  before  the  year  had  fallen,  or — "  The  Phoe- 
nician  stopped.  Charmides  held  up  his  hand  with 
such  an  imploring  gesture  that  a  sudden  light  broke 
in  upon  the  trader.  He  realized  now  that  regret  for 
his  emotional  folly  was  strong  upon  the  youth,  and  he 
saw  no  reason  for  not  helping  him  to  be  rid  of  its  con 
sequences. 

"You  have  lost  the  desire,  0  Charmides,  to  fulfil 
that  vow?"  he  asked. 

Charmides  bent  his  head  in  shamed  acquiescence. 

"Why,  then,  keep  it?  You  may  trust  me.  I  shall 
say  not  a  word  of  the  matter  to  any  one.  None  but  I 
saw  you.  The  guard  at  the  gate  was  asleep.  You  are 
safe.  Forget  the  matter,  and  be — "  again  he  paused. 
Charmides  was  regarding  him  with  open  displeasure. 

"None  saw!  What  of  the  god,  Phoenician?  What 
of  the  god  Apollo — my  patron?" 

Kabir  perceived  the  shepherd's  earnestness,  and  the 
corners  of  his  mouth  twitched.  Phoenician  polytheism 
had  crossed  swords,  long  ago,  with  Phoenician  prac 
ticality;  and  the  gods,  it  must  be  confessed,  had  been 
pretty  well  annihilated  in  the  series  of  contests.  Never 
theless,  Kabir  knew  very  well  that  he  could  not  scoff 
at  another's  religion.  He  was  puzzled.  He  tried 
argument,  persuasion,  entreaty,  every  form  of  rhetoric 
that  occurred  to  him  as  holding  out  possibilities  of 
usefulness;  but  all  alike  failed  to  move  in  the  slight 
est  degree  Charmides'  abject  determination.  The  un 
profitable  conversation  was  finally  ended  by  the  shep 
herd's  sensible  proposal: 


INTO   THE    EAST  45 

"I  will  lay  the  matter  before  my  father  this  morn 
ing,  Kabir,  and  by  his  decision  I  will  abide." 

The  Phoenician  nodded  approval.  It  was  a  simple 
solution  of  a  puzzle  which,  after  all,  did  not  really 
concern  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  would  have  been 
hard  enough  for  him  to  tell  why  he  was  taking  such 
an  unaccountable  interest  in  this  impulsive  and  irre 
sponsible  shepherd-boy — -he,  a  man  who  had  cared  for 
neither  man  nor  woman"  all  his  life  through'  whose 
whole  interest  had  hitherto  been  centred  in  material 
things.  But  he  was,  as  many  others  had  been  and 
would  be,  under  the  influence  of  the  peculiar  charm 
of  the  Ygupff  Greek,  a  charm  that  emanated  not  more 
from  the  incomparable  beauty  of  his  phvsioue  than" 
from  the  frank  and  ingenuous  sincerity  of  his  man^ 
ner. 

At  the  conclusion  of  their  peculiar  conversation,  the 
two  men  passed  into  the  living-room,  to  find  their  morn 
ing  meal  just  ready  and  Theron  and  his  son  sitting 
down  to  table,  while  Heraia  still  bent  over  the  hearth 
where  bread  was  baking. 

Charmides  gave  his  usual  morning  salutation  to  his 
father  and  mother,  and  then  seated  himself  in  silence. 
During  the  meal  he  said  not  a  word,  though  Phalaris 
was  in  a  lively  mood,  and  conversation  flowed  easily 
enough  among  the  others.  When  the  athlete  had 
risen,  however,  and  Kabir  was  detaining  the  others 
by  making  a  pretence  of  eating  in  order  to  watch  the 
shepherd,  Charmides  turned  to  his  father  and  asked, 
boldly: 

"Father,  may  one  break  a  vow  made  within  his 
temple  to  Apollo?" 

Theron  looked  at  his  son  carefully.  "You  know 
that  he  may  not.  Why  have  you  asked?" 

"Because  I  have  made  such  a  vow.  Last  night, 
after  a  great  vision,  it  was  wrung  from  me." 

Phalaris  came  back  and  seated  himself  quietly  at 
the  table.  Then  Heraia  leaned  forward,  looking  at 


46  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

her  son  as  if  something  long  expected,  long  hoped  for, 
had  come  to  pass. 

"A  vision?    Of  what?    Where?" 

"  At  midnight,  unable  to  sleep  for  the  chaos  of  my 
thoughts,  I  went  to  the  acropolis  and  entered  into 
the  temple  of  my  god.  There  I  heard  the  music  of  the 
gods,  most  marvellous,  most  incomprehensible;  and 
there  a  great  vision  was  before  me — a  silver  cloud  in 
which  the  goddess  Istar  of  Babylon  appeared  to  me 
and  called  to  me.  Thereupon  I  vowed  to  Apollo  to  set 
forth  into  the  East,  seeking  her  to  whom,  ere  the  year 
be  fallen,  I  must  proffer  my  homage." 

Buoyed  up  by  the  pleasure  and  sympathy  in  his 
mother's  eyes,  Charmides  had  spoken  quite  cheer 
fully.  Looking  into  her  face  after  his  last  words,  how 
ever,  he  found  there  something  that  caused  his  head 
to  droop  in  new-found  dejection,  while  he  waited  for 
his  father's  decision.  It  did  not  come.  There  was  a 
heavy  silence,  finally  broken  by  Phalaris,  who  said, 
a  little  contemptuously: 

"  You  had  a  dream,  Charmides.  You  did  not  leave 
the  room  in  which  I  slept  last  night." 

Heraia  raised  her  head  in  sudden  hope,  but  here 
Theron  broke  in: 

"Nay — even  if  it  were  but  a  dream,  the  gods  have 
more  than  once  appeared  to  favored  mortals  in  sleep." 

"But  this,  Theron,  was  no  dream.  I  followed 
Charmides  to  the  temple.  It  is  true  that  I  saw  no 
vision,  and  all  the  music  that  came  to  my  ears  was 
made  by  Charmides  himself,  who  sang  an  inspired 
hymn  to  the  goddess.  But  his  vow  to  Apollo  was 
most  certainly  made.  The  shepherd  has  spoken 
truth." 

There  was  another  pause.  Then  Theron  sighed 
heavily  and  spoke.  "He  must  abide  by  the  vow. 
You,  0  Phoenician,  will  you  take  him  in  the  galley  to 
your  far  city,  on  his  way  to  the  abode  of  the  goddess?" 

"That  I  promised  him  last  night." 


INTO    THE    EAST  47 

"But/'  interrupted  Phalaris,  still  incredulous,  "how 
did  you  both  pass  the  guard  at  the  gate  by  which  you 
entered  the  acropolis?" 

"He  slept!"  replied  Charmides  and  Kabir,  in  the 
same  breath. 

Heraia  let  a  faint  sigh  that  was  more  than  half 
sob  escape  her;  and  Charmides  drew  a  hand  across 
his  brow.  "You  bid  me  go,  father?"  he  said. 

Theron  hesitated.  Finally,  in  a  tone  of  grave  re- 
proval,  he  replied,  "It  is  not  I  that  can  bid  you  go. 
You  yourself  owe  obedience  to  your  patron  god  and 
to  the  strange  goddess  that  put  this  thing  into  your 
heart.  Though  I  shall  lose  you,  though  the  heart  of 
your  mother  is  faint  at  the  thought  of  your  departure, 
yet  I  dare  not  command  you  to  break  the  vow.  Yes, 
Charmides — you  must  go." 

A  momentary  spasm  of  pain  crossed  Charmides' 
young  face,  and  was  gone  as  it  had  come.  Only 
by  his  straightened  mouth  could  one  have  guessed 
that  he  was  not  as  usual.  Heraia 's  eyes  were  bright 
with  tears  which  she  did  not  allow  to  fall;  and  even 
Phalaris,  the  true  Spartan  of  the  family,  who  was  a 
little  scornful  of  his  brother  for  permitting  his  feelings 
to  betray  themselves  even  for  a  moment,  himself  felt 
an  unlooked-for  quiver  at  the  heart  when  he  thought 
of  a  life  empty  of  his  girlish  brother's  presence.  Both 
he  and  his  mother  sat  absently  looking  at  the  rhap 
sode,  till  Theron,  seeing  danger  of  weakness  in  the 
scene,  abruptly  rose: 

"Come,  Phalaris,  we  will  go  down  together  to  the 
galley.  I  will  speak  with  Eshmun  on  behalf  of  Char 
mides.  Perhaps  you,  also,  Kabir,  will  care  to  come?" 

"And  I.  I  will  work  now  upon  the  ship  till  she 
sails  again.  Sardeis  can  take  the  flock." 

"Eager  to  be  gone,  boy?"  asked  Theron,  smiling 
rather  sadly;  but  his  question  needed  no  other  answer 
than  his  son's  expression.  So,  presently,  the  four 
men  left  the  house,  and  Heraia  was  left  alone  to  face 


48  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

this  all-unexpected  grief  that  had  come  to  her — the 
loss  of  the  child  that  had  made  her  life  beautiful. 

The  next  ten  days  flew  by  on  wings — wings  of  grief 
and  dread  foreboding  for  those  in  Theron's  house. 
Work  on  the  galley  proceeded  vigorously.  Down 
from  the  hills,  far  to  the  east  of  the  city,  a  long,  taper 
ing  cedar-tree  was  brought.  Its  branches  were  hewn 
off,  its  bark  stripped  away,  and  the  bare  trunk  set  up 
in  the  place  of  the  old,  broken  mast.  New  sails  were 
an  easy  matter  of  provision,  for  the  Selinuntians  were 
adepts  at  making  them,  and  three  days  sufficed  for 
the  shaping  and  sewing  of  these.  Oars  took  more 
time,  for  strong  wood  was  hard  to  procure  around 
Selinous,  and  only  two  or  three  men  in  the  city  had 
any  idea  of  the  manner  of  carving  out  these  heavy 
and  unshapely  things.  The  mending  of  the  torn 
bottom  of  the  ship  and  the  replacing  of  her  crushed 
bulwarks  and  sides  required  many  days  of  skilful 
carpentry;  and  when  all  this  was  done,  the  heavy- 
clinging  barnacles  were  carefully  scraped  from  their 
comfortable  abiding  -  place,  and  the  good  ship  set 
right  side  up  once  more.  Finally,  on  the  last  day  of 
April,  Eshmun  declared  her  ready  for  the  new  launch 
ing,  and  sent  word  to  all  his  crew  that  in  forty-eight 
hours  more  their  journey  would  be  recommenced,  and 
that  on  the  evening  before  their  start  prayers  and  a 
sacrifice  for  a  safe  journey  would  be  made  at  an  altar 
erected  on  the  sands. 

Charmides  had  worked  well  and  steadity  at  the  re- 
mantling  of  the  ship;  and  in  this  way  became  ac 
quainted  with  her  captain  and  all  the  crew,  who,  when 
they  learned  that  he  was  to  sail  with  them  for  Tyre, 
took  some  pains  to  show  him  courtesy.  During  this 
fortnight  of  labor  Charmides'  thoughts  were  busier 
than  his  hands,  and  they  moved  not  wholly  through 
regretful  ways.  It  would  have  been  wonderful  had  his 
young  imagination  not  been  excited  by  the  prospect 
before  him,  that  of  strange  lands  and  peoples,  of  pleas- 


INTOTHEEAST  49 

ures  and  dangers  with  which  he  was  to  become  ac 
quainted.  His  fancy  strayed  often  through  pleasant 
paths,  so  that  sometimes  half  a  day  went  by  before  a 
remembrance  of  the  coming  separation  from  his  home 
and  from  his  mother  brought  a  shadow  across  his  new 
road. 

The  prospect  of  departure  was,  too,  far  easier  for 
Charmides  to  contemplate  than  it  would  have  been 
for  Phalaris,  with  all  the  athlete's  affected  stoicism. 
Up  to  this  time  Charmides  had  led  a  lonely  life; 
no  tastes  that  rendered  him  companionable  towards 
others,  or,  rather,  holding  within  himself  resources 
that  enabled  him  to  lead  a  life  in  which  the  presence  of 
others  was  unnecessary  and  undesirable.  The  existence 
that  his  imagination  conjured  up  from  the  lands  of 
the  unreal  had  become  dearer  to  him  than  that  of  ac 
tualities.  He  had  created  a  world  for  himself,  and 
peopled  it  with  creatures  of  his  fancy.  With  these 
he  walked  and  held  converse,  and  no  one  but  Heraia, 
his  mother,  could  have  understood  how  completely 
they  satisfied  his  every  need  of  companionship.  Thus 
he  was  able  to  take  away  with  him  almost  all  of  his 
former  life ;  and  Charmides  and  Heraia  both  realized, 
in  their  secret  hearts,  that  the  way  of  another  in  his 
place  wrould  have  been  far  harder  than  it  promised  to 
be  for  him. 

During  the  last  week  before  the  sailing  of  the  ship, 
Charmides  held  one  or  two  long  and  serious  talks 
with  his  father  and  brother.  Theron, .  with  grave, 
undemonstrative  affection,  gave  him  good  counsel 
and  excellent  advice  as  to  his  dealings  with  men,  and 
his  behavior  in  various  possible  situations  with  them. 
Theron  was  not  a  poor  man,  neither  was  he  an  un 
generous  one;  and  the  bag  of  silver  coins  given  the 
shepherd  to  carry  away  with  him  contained  enough 
to  transport  him  to  the  gates  of  the  great  city  itself. 
Regarding  the  object  of  that  journey,  the  father,  after 
the  first  morning,  said  not  one  word.  He  felt  that 


50  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Charmides  knew  best  what  he  intended  to  do;  and  it 
must  be  confessed  that,  despite  his  piety  and  his  rev 
erence  for  the  gods  of  his  race,  the  Selinuntian  felt 
his  credulity  much  taxed  when  it  came  to  Istar,  the 
living  goddess  of  Babylon,  of  whose  existence  Kabir 
was  their  single  witness,  and  at  that  a  witness  only 
at  second  hand,  according  to  the  Tyrian's  own  admis 
sion.  Phalaris  shared  his  father's  views  on  this  point  ; 
but,  to  his  credit  be  it  said,  not  the  least  suggestion  of 
this  feeling  ever  escaped  him  in  his  brother's  presence 
after  Charmides'  decision  to  go  had  been  finally  and 
irrevocably  made. 

Kabir,  in  the  mean  time,  found  his  admiration  of  the 
shepherd  increasing.  Charmides  now  held  many  a 
talk  with  him  on  practical  things,  and  the  Phoenician 
found  his  prospective  companion  by  no  means  lacking 
in  common-sense.  The  young  Greek  very  soon  read 
enough  of  the  other's  nature  to  realize  that  poetry  and 
imagination  held  small  places  in  his  category  of  de 
sirable  characteristics;  and  the  young  man  ceased  to 
lay  before  the  older  one  any  pretty  notions  regarding 
sea -myths  in  which  he  was  indulging  himself  when 
contemplating  the  long,  eastward  voyage.  Now  and 
then  they  spoke  of  Istar,  and  Tyre,  and  Babylon, 
which  Kabir  knew  well  by  hearsay.  But  legends 
of  mischievous  Tritons  and  dangerous  Sirens,  of  fair 
Nymphs  and  hideous  sea  -  monsters,  and  stories  of 
Delos  and  Naxos,  of  Crete  and  Halicarnassus,  the 
rhapsode  kept  for  himself  and  his  lyre. 

At  length  came  the  dawning  of  the  last  day  of  the 
shepherd's  old  life.  The  galley  was  launched  and 
ready  to  sail.  Food  and  water  were  stowed  away 
on  board;  and  the  libations  and  sacrifices  had  taken 
place  on  the  beach  the  evening  before.  Now,  on 
this  last  afternoon,  Charmides  sat  alone,  a  little  way 
in  front  of  the  house,  looking  off  upon  the  seas  to 
which,  to  -  morrow,  he  was  to  trust  himself  for  safe 
convov  to  such  distant  lands.  It  was  a  fair  after- 


INTO    THE    EAST  51 

noon,  and  very  warm.  The  rhapsode,  basking  in  the 
sunlight,  felt  his  emotions  dulled  under  the  beauty 
around  him.  His  blue  eyes  wandered  slowly  over  the 
familiar  and  yet  ever-changing  scene.  His  mind  was 
almost  at  rest.  Indeed,  his  eyelids  had  begun  to  droop 
with  suspicious  heaviness,  when  a  gentle  hand  was 
laid  upon  his  shoulder,  and  he  turned  to  find  his 
mother  at  his  side. 

"Charmides!"  she  said,  in  a  strained  voice.  And 
then  again:  "My  Charmides!" 

"My  mother!"  And  she  was  held  close  in  his 
arms,  her  tears  raining  down  upon  his  face,  his  head 
drawn  close  upon  her  breast. 

"Charmides!  My  boy,  my  beloved,  my  compan 
ion!  How  can  I  give  thee  up?" 

The  shepherd  stood  still  and  silent  while  her  hands 
caressed  his  shining  hair  and  her  breath  came  and 
went  in  a  vain  effort  to  re-establish  her  self-control. 
After  two  or  three  minutes,  in  which  his  thoughts  spun 
dizzily,  he  took  both  her  hands  in  his  own  and  lifted 
them  to  his  lips. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  rather  brokenly,  "Apollo  will 
forgive,  will  release  me  from  the  vow.  I  will  not  go 
away.  I  will  not  leave  thee  here — alone."  He  kissed 
the  hand  again.  "  Come  with  me  to  the  temple  of  the 
god,  and  I  will  absolve  myself  from  the  vow." 

Heraia  drew  the  boy  still  closer,  and  put  her  lips  to 
the  hair  that  clustered  about  his  ear.  "  The  gods 
bless  thee,  my  dear  one.  Apollo  will  hardly  forgive 
my  weakness.  Nay,  Charmides,  I  did  not  come  here 
to  grieve  over  you,  but  to  talk  with  you  on  many  things 
that  a  mother  has  in  her  heart  to  say  to  her  children. 
Let  us  sit  here  together  and  look  off  upon  the  sea — the 
sea  that  I  must  hereafter  watch  alone." 

Thus  speaking,  she  drew  him  down  upon  the  ground 
beside  her,  into  one  of  the  daisy  drifts,  and  they  sat  in 
silence  for  a  little,  looking  off  together  over  the  far  ex 
panse  of  shimmering  blue,  with  the  turquoise  horizon- 


52  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

line  melting  into  the  still  bluer  tint  of  the  sky  above. 
And  when  Heraia  began  again  to  talk,  her  tone  was  so 
low  and  so  even  that  the  words  seemed  to  her  listener 
to  mingle  with  the  afternoon,  becoming  at  length  so 
entirely  a  part  of  their  surroundings  that  in  his  mem 
ory  of  the  scene,  as  his  mind  held  it  in  later  years, 
her  voice  was  forever  accompanied  by  the  shining  of 
bright  waters  and  the  faint  fragrance  of  the  carpet  of 
flowers  surrounding  her. 

"Your  father,  my  Charmides,  has  talked  with  you 
of  your  long  and  lonely  journey,  of  men,  the  ways  of 
men,  and  your  dealings  with  them.  Obey  his  wishes 
in  all  these  things,  for  his  advice  is  that  of  one  who 
has  lived  long  and  wisely  in  the  world.  But  I,  dear 
son,  must  speak  to  you  in  another  way,  of  things  which, 
were  you  not  as  you  are,  I  should  not  mention  before 
you.  But  you  are  young,  and  you  are  very  pure ;  and 
your  nature,  with  its  hidden  joys  and  hidden  woe,  I 
understand  through  my  own. 

"Y  face  and  form,  my  Charmides,  are  beauti 
ful —  more  beautiful  and  more  strange  than  those  of 
any  man  I  have  ever  seen."  She  paused  for  a  moment 
to  look  wistfully  into  that  face,  with  its  golden  frame 
of  hair,  while  the  boy,  astonished  and  displeased, 
muttered,  resentfully: 
"My  face  is  that  of  a  woman!" 

His  mother  smiled  at  his  disgust.  "Nay,  child, 
thy  face  has  the  man  in  it  most  plainly  written.  There 
is  in  it  what  women  love — and  it  is  of  this  that  I  would 
speak. 

"  Excepting  myself,  Charmides,  you  have  known  no 
woman  well ;  and  the  feeling  of  a  man  for  his  mother 
is  never  his  feeling  for  any  other  of  her  sex.  Woman 
nature  is  as  yet,  I  think,  closed  to  your  understanding. 
In  this  long. journey  upon  which  you  are  faring  forth,  I 
do  not  doubt  that  you  will  encounter  women,  more  than 
one,  who  will  seek  you  for  the  beauty  of  your  face.  For 
women  love  beauty  in  men,  as  men  desire  it  in  them. 


INTO   THE    EAST  53 

"In  your  connection  with  women,  whether  the  ac 
quaintance  be  of  their  seeking  or  of  yours,  remember 
this  one  thing,  that  I  most  firmly  believe :  All  women, 
all  in  the  world,  of  any  land,  I  think,  have  in  them 
two  natures — one  that  is  evil,  and  one  that  is  good.  It 
will  rest  with  you  alone  which  one  you  choose  to  look 
upon.  For  there  is  no  woman  so  degraded,  so  lost  to 
virtue,  that  she  cannot  remember  a  time  of  purity 
which  you  can  reawaken  in  her.  And  there  is  no 
woman  so  good  that,  for  the  man  she  truly  loves  with 
her  heart  and  with  her  soul,  she  will  not  fall ;  for  so 
men  have  taught  them,  through  the  ages,  to  love. 
Therefore,  my  son,  may  the  greatest  of  all  humilia 
tions  come  upon  you  if,  knowing  what  I  say  to  be  true, 
you  treat  any  woman  with  other  than  reverence  and 
honor.  For  a  woman  who  clings  in  dishonor  to  the 
man  she  loves  is  not  to  be  blamed  by  the  gods  so  much 
as  the  man  she  has  trusted.  For  a  man  is  strong  and 
should  have  control  over  all  his  senses ;  but  to  a  woman 
love  is  life ;  and  it  is  decreed  that  life  is  all  in  alo  k>  us. 

"  Yours,  Charmides,  is  a  white  soul,  a  soul  as"  beau 
tiful  as  the  body  that  holds  it.  As  yet' it  is  unspotted 
by  a  single  act  of  wrong-doing.  That  you  keep  that 
soul  pure  throughout  your  life  is  my  one  prayer  for 
you.  I  give  you  up  to  the  wide  world — to  poverty, 
to  wretchedness,  to  suffering  perhaps  —  but  in  this 
I  trust  you  to  keep  faith  with  me.  Remember  that  I 
hold  your  honor  as  my  own.  Though  Apollo  may  not 
vouchsafe  that  I  see  you  again  after  to-morrow — ever  ; 
though  the  memory  of  me  shall  grow  dim  in  your 
after-life ;  yet  remember — strive  to  remember  always — 
my  last  words,  spoken  out  of  my  great,  my  aching  love 
for  you.  For  in  these  words  my  motherhood  reaches 
its  end.  Your  manhood  has  begun." 

She  kept  her  voice  steady,  her  tears  from  falling, 
till  the  end.  Not  so  the  boy.  When  the  last  word 
had  left  her  lips  and  she  had  bowed  her  head  under 
her  weight  of  sorrow,  Charmides  could  not  speak  for 


54  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

the  straining  of  his  throat;  and  his  eyes,  brimming 
with  salt  tears,  looked  blindly  upon  the  flushing  clouds. 
For  many  minutes  they  were  silent,  sitting  together 
for  the  last  time,  while  the  sunset  hour  drew  on  and 
the  golden  shadows  fell  athwart  the  daisies,  and 
Heraia's  words  sank  deeper  into  the  shepherd's  heart. 
Finally  they  rose,  and  moved,  hand  in  hand,  in  the 
deepening  twilight,  back  through  the  field  to  Theron's 
house.  There  Charmides  passed  once  more  through 
the  door-way  of  his  youth. 

The  evening  \vas  long  and  very  sad.  After  the 
forlorn  supper  the  little  group  sat  close  together,  say 
ing  little,  yet  loath  to  make  a  proposal  of  bed,  for  it 
had  come  home  poignantly  to  all  of  them  how  very 
empty  life  would  seem  with  Charmides  taken  away. 
After  a  time  Kabir  thoughtfully  left  them  and  went  out 
to  walk  alone  in  the  starlight.  Then  the  two  slaves, 
Doris  and  Sardeis,  crept  in  and  seated  themselves  in 
a  distant  corner  of  the  living-room.  Doris'  wide  eyes 
were  tinged  with  red,  and  her  mien  was  as  dejected 
as  Heraia's;  for  Charmides  had  been  her  comrade 
always.  He  had  helped  her  in  her  tasks,  had  sung 
his  shepherd  songs  to  her  from  the  fields,  had  not 
seldom  procured  pardon  for  her  for  some  neglect  of 
duty.  And  Sardeis,  the  skilful  but  rather  churlish 
slave,  who  hated  Phalaris  and  all  his  ways,  and  treat 
ed  Theron  with  respect  only  because  it  meant  a  whip 
ping  if  he  failed  to  do  so,  had  never  once  objected  in 
his  own  heart  to  taking  Charmides'  flock  from  him 
as  often  as  the  youth  desired  lazy  freedom,  or  to  per 
forming  numberless  little  kindnesses  for  him  that  no 
beating  could  have  drawn  forth  for  the  athlete.  He, 
too,  on  this  eve  of  the  boy's  departure,  was  beyond 
speech. 

After  nearly  an  hour  of  cheerless  silence,  Phalaris, 
with  a  desperate  effort  to  relieve  the  general  strain, 
brought  out  his  brother's  lyre  and  put  it  into  Charmi 
des'  hands.  There  was  a  little  repressed  sob  from 


INTO    THE    EAST  55 

Heraia,  but  the  rhapsode's  face  brightened.  For  a 
few  seconds  he  lovingly  fingered  the  instrument. 
Then,  lifting  up  his  voice,  he  sang  a  song  to  the  sea, 
a  quaintly  rhymed  little  melody,  in  his  invariable 
minor.  Finishing  it,  he  began  again,  improvising  as 
he  went,  with  an  ease  and  carelessness  that  produced 
wonderfully  happy  combinations.  Now,  as  always, 
he  found  consolation  for  every  grief  in  his  incom 
parable  talent.  And  when,  after  a  last  merry  little 
tune  that  rose  continually  from  its  first  tones  till  it 
ran  out  of  his  range  at  the  end,  he  finally  put  the 
instrument  away,  Heraia  and  the  slave  alike  had 
ceased  to  weep,  Phalaris  was  smiling,  and  Theron 
rose  cheerfully: 

"  Now,  Charmides,  you  must  rise  at  dawn ;  therefore 
I  bid  you  go  to  rest.  Be  up  with  the  earliest  light, 
and  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  temple,  where,  before 
Archemides,  you  will  renew  your  vow  and  offer  sac 
rifice  of  the  youngest  lamb  in  our  fold.  Kabir  will 
join  us  there  after  the  service  is  ended,  and  with  him 
you  will  go  down  to  the  ship.  Good-night.  The  gods 
grant  you  sleep." 

Before  Charmides  had  left  the  room  Kabir  came  in 
again,  and  presently  went  off  to  his  couch  with  the 
brothers. 

Charmides'  rest  was  broken,  filled  with  dreams  of 
far  countries  and  with  uncertain  visions  of  her  whom 
he  was  to  seek.  Disconnected  sounds  of  music,  bells, 
and  phrases  of  charmed  melody  rang  through  his 
unconsciousness.  Only  in  the  last  hour  before  dawn 
did  he  sink  into  untroubled  slumber,  from  which, 
with  the  first  glimmer  of  day,  he  rose.  His  mind 
wras  at  rest,  his  heart  filled  with  peace  in  the  inward 
knowledge  that  what  he  was  going  forth  alone  to  seek 
was  no  chimera,  but  a  marvellous  reality.  It  was,  then, 
with  a  great,  confident  joy  written  upon  his  face  that, 
at  the  rising  of  the  sun,  he  stood  before  the  altar  of 
Apollo,  and,  in  the  presence  of  Archemides,  the  high- 


56  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

priest,  surrounded  by  his  father,  brother,  and  the  eld 
ers  of  Selinous,  renewed  his  solemn  vow  and  offered 
prayer  and  sacrifice  to  the  Olympian  of  the  Silver 
Bow. 

The  hour  following  the  ceremony  was  painful  enough. 
As  the  boy  looked  back  upon  it  afterwards,  it  was  only 
a  haze  of  tears,  filled  with  his  mother's  incoherent 
words,  his  father's  irrelevant  advice,  Phalaris'  poor 
attempts  at  laughing  at  the  rest :  all  of  these  things 
finally  ending  in  a  choked  prayer  and  kiss  from 
Heraia.  Her  last  embrace,  given  as  they  stood  upon 
the  shore  beside  the  little  boat  that  was  to  row  him 
out  to  the  galley,  sent  a  sharp  pang  through  his 
heart.  He  knew  that  his  father  gently  loosened  her 
arms  from  his  neck.  He  had  a  decided  memory  of 
the  last  mighty  grip  of  Phalaris'  fingers.  Then  he 
and  the  Phoenician,  each  with  his  bundle  of  clothes 
and  money,  stepped  into  the  boat  and  were  pulled 
over  the  smooth  waters  to  the  side  of  the  Fish  of 
Tyre,  resplendent  in  her  new  rigging  and  furnish 
ing. 

They  were  the  last  to  go  on  board.  Eshmun  await 
ed  them  anxiously,  wishing  to  get  away  at  once,  into 
the  fresh  easterly  breeze  that  was  bellying  out  the 
ready  -  hoisted  sail.  Thus  the  pain  of  lingering  in 
sight  of  the  city,  his  home,  was  not  protracted  for 
the  rhapsode.  Ten  minutes  after  he  had  stepped 
upon  the  deck  of  the  ship  her  anchor  was  weighed, 
the  tiller  was  pushed  hard  down,  the  sails  sprang  full, 
and  the  shore  and  rocky  heights  of  the  Greek  city 
began  slowly  to  recede  from  view. 

Now  came,  for  Charmides,  twelve  days  of  pure  de 
light.  He  was  alive  and  he  was  living  upon  the  sea, 
that  moving  plain,  every  aspect  of  which  was  one  of 
new  beauty.  From  dawn  to  dusk,  and  back  again 
in  dreams  to  dawn,  he  fed  his  mind  upon  the  all-abid 
ing  peace,  the  stillness  made  more  still  by  the  music 
of  the  ripples.  Perfect  freedom  was  his.  He  was  as 


INTO   THE    EAST  57 

in  the  very  centre  of  the  world,  the  sea  around  him 
unbroken,  as  far  as  eye  could  reach,  or  perhaps  some 
low  -  hanging,  faintly  olive -green  cloud  that  others 
called  an  island,  just  touching  the  distant  horizon-line, 
west  or  south.  It  was  here  and  now,  only,  that  the 
image  of  Istar,  as  he  conceived  her,  took  absolute 
possession  of  his  soul.  By  day  he  walked  with  her, 
by  night  she  watched  over  his  light  sleep.  He  talked 
to  her,  believing  that  she  answered  him.  He  sang 
to  her  and  dreamed  of  her  and  prayed  to  her  as 
something  especially  his  own.  Yet,  near  as  was  this 
image  of  his  mind,  Charmides  never  looked  straight 
upon  her  face  unveiled.  Dimly,  many  times,  he  con 
jured  up  her  features.  Her  eyes  shone  upon  him  out 
of  the  spangled  night,  but  their  color  he  did  not  know. 
Her  cheek,  smooth,  warm,  semi-transparent,  tinted 
as  the  petal  of  the  asphodel,  was  near  his  lips,  but 
never  desecrated  by  them.  And  while  she  thus  moved 
near  him,  drawing  him  onward  with  intenser  desire 
towards  her  far  abiding-place,  she  was  forever  the 
goddess,  in  that  she  kept  him  always  from  all  desire 
of  a  more  human  approach  than  this  mystic,  half- 
mental  companionship. 

During  the  voyage  the  sailors  regarded  Charmides 
with  a  curiosity  tinged  with  dislike.  Eshmun  him 
self  was  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  the  unsociable  and 
idle  existence  of  the  youth,  who  lay  all  day  long  on 
the  high  stern,  under  the  awning,  singing  to  his  lyre 
and  watching  the  sea.  And  Kabir  passed  a  good  deal 
of  time  stud37ing  this  intense  phase  of  the  shepherd's 
malady,  and  seeking  to  think  out  its  cure.  Consider 
ing  the  trader's  eminent  practicality,  he  conceived, 
with  remarkable  penetration,  the  workings  of  a  poeti 
cally  unbalanced  mind.  Only  he,  out  of  all  the  ship's 
company,  cared  to  listen  to  the  rhapsode's  music. 
Only  he  lay  awake  by  night  to  listen  to  and  piece  to 
gether  the  strange  words  that  Charmides  spoke  in  his 
sleep.  But  even  he,  it  must  be  confessed,  did  not  re- 


58  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

spcct  the  effeminate  romance  that  could  lead  a  grown 
man  into  such  ecstasies  over  a  divine  ideal. 

The  Fish  of  Tyre  took  her  course  down  the  high 
coast  of  southern  Sicily,  halting  once  at  Akragas  and 
again  at  the  easternmost  point,  Syracuse,  where  more 
water  was  taken  on,  and  purchase  made  of  a  number  of 
jars  of  a  rosier,  sweeter  liquid.  Then  away  to  sea  they 
sailed  again,  southward,  round  the  heel  of  Italy,  and 
north  once  more  to  the  shores  of  Mother  Greece  herself, 
stopping  finally  at  many-storied  Crete,  where  the  long 
sand-stretches  on  the  coast  yielded  every  year  to  the 
Phoenicians  a  store  of  their  wonderful  little  dye-mol- 
lusks.  Leaving  the  city  of  tyrant  kings,  the  galley 
entered  upon  the  waters  that  formed  a  setting  for  those 
jewels  of  the  Mediterranean,  the  Grecian  Isles,  that 
rose  like  so  many  emeralds  upon  their  amethystine 
waters,  shot  with  gold  by  day,  lying  dim  and  mur 
murous  by  night  under  the  dome  of  lapis-lazuli  pricked 
with  diamond  stars.  The  galley,  homeward  bound, 
carrying  her  burden  of  homesick  men,  made  no  halt 
between  Crete  and  Cyprus,  which  last  was,  to  Tyrians, 
a  second  home.  Charmides  witnessed,  with  a  little 
tug  at  his  heart-strings,  the  great  joy  of  his  comrades, 
even  Kabir  and  Eshmun,  at  once  more  beholding  the 
familiar  shores.  A  night  was  spent  in  the  Karchenian 
harbor,  for  it  was  but  one  day's  journey  now  to  Tyre 
herself. 

During  that  last  night,  while  they  were  at  anchor, 
Charmides,  in  his  accustomed  place  on  the  deck,  lay 
wide  awake.  The  moon,  half-grown,  set  about  mid 
night  over  the  land.  The  night  was  still  and  sweet, 
and  the  air  warm  with  approaching  summer.  The 
planets  shone  like  little  moons,  more  radiant  than 
Charmides  had  ever  known  them  before.  Now  and 
then,  from  the  town  on  shore,  came  the  baying  of  a 
dog.  The  Greek's  heart  swelled  with  a  painful 
longing  that  he  could  not  define.  It  was  the  first 
twinge  of  homesickness,  the  first  realization  of  the 


INTO    THE    EAST  59 

greatness  of  the  world  around  him,  and  his  own  in 
significance  within  it.  Istar,  the  goddess,  might  in 
deed  be  near  him;  but  the  shepherd  longed  less  for 
divinity  than  for  the  clasp  of  a  warm  human  hand 
upon  his  own. 

It  was  better  when  the  dawn,  red-robed,  came  up  out 
of  the  east.  There  was  a  bustle  of  sailors  on  deck, 
a  creaking  of  ropes,  and  a  flapping  of  sail-cloth.  Then 
came  the  hoarse  shouts  of  Sydyk,  rousing  the  slaves 
from  their  chained  slumber,  bidding  them  bend  cheerily 
to  their  oars,  for  the  end  of  their  eight  months  of  agony 
and  toil  was  near  its  end.  The  little  ship  sped  out  of 
the  friendly  harbor,  gallantly  distancing  the  waves, 
sending  forth  two  hissing  curls  of  foam  off  her  prow, 
her  rudder  cutting  a  deep,  pale  line  in  the  smooth  wake. 
As  the  morning  star  died  on  the  crimson  of  the  east,  the 
breeze  freshened.  The  whole  long  horizon  was  shot 
with  rosy  clouds  and  topped  by  a  line  of  gold  that  paled 
into  delicate  green  as  it  melted  towards  the  fair  blue  of 
the  upper  sky,  in  which  the  white  stars  had  now  long 
since  hidden  themselves  away. 

Charmides  let  his  lyre  rest  as  he  stood  by  one  of  the 
bulwarks  watching  a  bird  float  away  from  the  ship, 
back  towards  the  receding  Cyprenian  shore.  Pres 
ently  Kabir  came  to  join  him,  and  the  two  sat  down 
together,  cross-legged,  on  the  deck.  In  one  hand  the 
Phoenician  had  brought  a  platter  of  cooked  fish  and 
some  bread,  while  in  the  other  he  had  a  small  jar  of 
sweet  wine. 

"  Food,  my  poet ;  food  for  the  morning.  Pray  Apollo 
to  make  it  sweet." 

"You  should  be  returning  thanks  to  Melkart  and 
Baal  for  the  approaching  end  of  the  voyage,"  returned 
the  Greek,  speaking  Phoenician  in  rather  a  subdued 
voice. 

Kabir  smiled  to  himself,  but  made  no  answer  other 
than  to  hold  out  food  to  Charmides,  who  helped  him 
self  not  too  bountifully.  The  rhapsode,  indeed,  was 


60  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

in  danger  of  falling  into  a  melancholy  reverie  at  this 
the  very  beginning  of  the  day.  But,  after  ten  minutes' 
silence,  his  self-appointed  friend  fortunately  broke  in 
upon  him. 

"Aphrodite's  rites  you  practise,  Charmides.  Istar 
of  the  Babylonians  you  have  come  to  seek.  But  our 
Nature  goddess,  our  divinity  of  fertility  and  beauty, 
you  know  nothing  of.  In  Tyre,  before  you  move 
farther  to  the  east,  you  must  let  me  show  you  how  we 
are  accustomed  to  worship  Ashtoreth.  Across  the 
bay,  on  the  mainland  opposite  the  great  Sidonian  har 
bor,  she  has  a  vast  sanctuary.  We  shall  go  there 
together,  you  and  I,  and  you  shall  learn — "  Kabir 
stopped  speaking,  and  regarded  the  boy  contempla 
tively. 

"Learn — what?"  asked  Charmides,  turning  towards 
him  slightly. 

"Many  things,  Charmides,  that  it  will  be  well  for 
you  to  know.  Will  you  drink  of  this?  And  there  is 
new  bread,  also." 

But  the  Greek  refused  more  food,  and  was  not  suffi 
ciently  interested  in  the  conversation  begun  to  ques 
tion  Kabir  further  on  the  things  that  he  should  learn. 
The  sun  was  rising  now — a  great,  fiery  wheel,  burnished 
and  dripping,  sending  its  rays  of  dazzling  drops  high 
up  the  curved  way,  while  it  came  on  more  slowly, 
more  surely,  till  it  rolled  clear  of  the  horizon,  in  a 
cloud  of  glorious,  blinding  flame. 

Charmides  prayed  silently  till  the  day  was  well 
begun,  and  sea  and  sky  were  resolved  into  their  or 
dinary  hues  of  blue  and  white  and  gold.  Then,  Kabir 
having  gone  again,  the  .rhapsode,  spent  with  his  wake 
ful  night,  and  sorrowful  at  heart  with  longing  for 
his  distant  home,  lay  down  upon  the  planks  and  slept. 
It  wras  near  noon  when  he  woke  again;  a'nd  over  all 
the  ship  one  could  feel  the  vibrations  of  excitement 
at  thought  of  the  nearness  of  Tyre,  the  home  city. 
It  should  show  along  the  horizon  by  sunset,  and  for 


INTO    THE    EAST  61 

that  hour  every  soul  on  board  was  eagerly,  impatiently 
waiting. 

To  Charmides,  standing  forlornly  near  the  prow, 
it  appeared,  at  last,  in  a  dream-like  mist  of  scarlet  and 
gold.  Rushing  water  and  green  eddies  and  that  mar 
vellous,  blinding  haze  mingled  together  and  melted 
away  to  make  room  for  the  long  -  dreamed  -  of  cloud 
picture  that  rose,  like  a  conjured  vision,  out  of  the 
east.  It  was  a  mirrored  city  of  white  walls  and  droop 
ing  cypress  -  trees  that  stood  far  out  in  front  of  the 
gradually  heightening  coast-line  behind  them.  It  was 
Tyre,  the  city  of  the  rising  sun,  viewed  thus  for  the 
first  time  at  the  day's  end.  It  was  the  gate  of  the 
new  world.  Charmides  had  stood  long  before  its  closed 
door,  waiting,  watching  for  admittance.  Now,  at  last, 
the  key  was  in  his  hand. 

"It  is  fair,  my  home/'  observed  Kabir,  coming  to 
stand  at  his  shoulder,  his  tone  fraught  with  sup 
pressed  joy  and  pride. 

Charmides  assented  quietly.  "Oh  yes,  Kabir.  It 
is,  indeed,  fair.  Very — fair." 


IV 
ASHTORETH 

NOT  until  an  hour  after  sunset  did  Charmides  at 
last  set  foot  on  shore  and  stand,  in  the  dim 
evening  crimson,  on  the  western  strand  of  the  island 
city.  His  bundle  of  clothing  and  money  was  on  his 
back.  His  lyre  hung  from  his  waist  by  a  thong; 
and  on  his  head,  over  its  usual  fillet,  he  wore  a  peaked 
cap  of  crimson  cloth,  cut  after  the  Tyrian  fashion. 
He  was  waiting  for  Kabir,  who  lingered  to  indulge  in 
a  round  of  chaff  with  half  a  dozen  loquacious  fellows 
on  a  small  barge  that  was  just  about  to  put  off  for  the 
galley.  Kabir  had,  in  the  fnendliest  way,  invited  the 
shepherd  to  share  his  own  lodging  at  the  house  of 
his  brother  in  the  city;  but,  notwithstanding  this, 
the  rhapsode  felt  forlorn  enough  as  he  stood  looking 
out  across  the  darkening  waters  in  the  direction  of 
his  home.  It  was  a  sudden  and  most  untoward  emo 
tion  that  made  the  Greek  blind  to  his  appearance  when 
Kabir  finally  came  to  his  side.  For  not  till  the  Phoeni 
cian's  hand  fell  upon  his  shoulder,  and  the  rather 
raucous  voice  sounded  close  in  his  ear,  did  Charmides 
turn,  with  a  start,  to  follow  his  guide  out  into  the  streets 
of  Tyre. 

They  were  narrow,  these  streets,  and  twisting,  and 
very  dirty.  Moreover,  though  the  business  of  the 
day  was  finished,  the  thoroughfares  were  still  a  wrig 
gling  mass  of  litters,  chariots,  camels,  asses,  dogs,  and 
men.  Charmides  slipped  through  patches  of  filth, 
and  stumbled  over  animals  that  lay  in  his  path.,  while 


ASHTORETH  63 

he  looked  about  him  in  dull  displeasure  at  the  build 
ings  of  stone  and  clay-brick  and  dried  mud,  sumptuous 
or  wretched  beyond  belief,  that  lined  these  lanes. 
On  all  sides  rose  the  clamor  of  rude,  Phoenician  voices 
and  the  mouthing  of  ungraceful  words.  Here  and 
there  a  fire  of  sticks,  burning  in  some  court-yard  and 
visible  through  an  open  door-way,  cast  an  uncertain 
light  across  their  path.  Kabir  walked  rapidly,  and 
in  silence.  His  momentary  feeling  of  excitement 
at  being  again  in  his  native  city  had  passed,  and 
he  had  regained  his  usual  placid  indifference — the 
indifference  that  Charmides  before  now  had  found 
unexpectedly  sympathetic. 

After  nearly  half  an  hour's  walk  the  Phoenician 
halted  before  a  very  fair-sized  wooden  house,  and, 
knocking  ponderously  upon  the  closed,  brass-bound 
door,  turned  to  Charmides  with  a  slight  smile,  saying : 

"  It  is  the  house  of  my  brother,  where  I,  also,  make 
my  home  when  I  am  here.  You  will  be  welcome  in 
my  family." 

Charmides  had  no  time  to  make  a  fitting  reply,  for 
the  door  was  quickly  opened  by  some  one  who,  after 
peering  for  a  moment  or  two  into  the  darkness  at  the 
waiting  figures,  gave  a  sudden,  loud  shout  of  delight 
and  seized  Kabir  by  the  girdle.  For  the  next  ten 
minutes  the  young  Greek  stood  in  the  background, 
watching  the  general  melee  that  ensued  upon  the 
shout.  Four  children,  besides  the  half-grown  boy 
who  had  opened  the  door,  made  a  speedy  appearance; 
and  they  were  followed  by  a  quiet-looking  woman 
who  manifested  extreme  pleasure  at  sight  of  Kabir. 
Finally,  out  of  the  gloom  of  the  interior,  drawn  by 
the  hubbub  of  excitement  at  the  door,  appeared  a  digni 
fied  and  well-dressed  man,  who,  on  perceiving  Kabir, 
gave  a  quick  exclamation,  and,  brushing  away  the 
clinging  children,  embraced  his  brother  with  every 
sign  of  delighted  affection. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  whole  party  were  seated  in 


64  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

a  well-furnished  room,  Charmides  and  Kabir  partaking 
of  supper,  while  the  Phoenicians  sat  close  about  them, 
listening  eagerly  to  the  story  of  the  long  voyage,  the 
disaster  on  the  rocks  of  Selinous,  and  the  account  of 
Charmides  and  his  family. 

"So  you  fare  on  to  Babylon,  stranger?"  observed 
Abdosir,  Kabir's  brother.  "  It  is  well  that  you  reach 
ed  Tyre  no  later.  The  last  caravan  of  the  summer 
leaves  for  the  East  in  three  days,  under  charge" — 
he  turned  to  his  brother — "  under  charge  of  Hodo, 
whom  you,  Kabir,  will  surely  remember.  A  month 
ago  he  came  up  from  the  great  city,  has  now  finished 
his  business,  and  returns  homeward  by  way  of  Damas 
cus.  The  Greek  will  do  well  in  his  care." 

"Yes,  that  is  excellent. — Hodo!  One  could  have 
asked  no  better  master  of  the  caravan."  Kabir  turned 
to  Charmides  with  a  smile;  but  the  youtn  sat  silent, 
his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  face  of  Abdosir,  his  expres 
sion  containing  little  enough  of  joy. 

"You  have  heard  what  my  brother  says,"  contin 
ued  Kabir,  in  Greek.  "  This  Hodo  is  a  Babylonian, 
and  well  known  to  us.  He  is  a  shrewd  merchant  and 
an  excellent  comrade.  We  will  recommend  you  to  him 
ta-morrow.  If  your  caravan  starts  in  three  days'  time 
you  will  reach  the  city  of  I  star  easily  enough  in  another 
month." 

Charmides  tried  hard  to  answer  this  speech  in  a 
proper  spirit,  but  he  found  it  an  effort  to  speak  at  all. 
At  the  present  moment  the  only  wish  of  his  heart  was 
that  any  communication  with  distant  Babylon  might 
be  found  impossible,  and  that  he  himself  might  be  at 
liberty  to  turn  his  face  once  more  to  the  west.  Perhaps 
this  mood  was  partly  induced  by  weariness.  If  so, 
Kabir  knew  his  companion  better  than  the  Greek  knew 
himself ;  for,  after  finishing  their  meat  and  wine,  and 
talking  for  a  few  minutes  with  his  nephews  and  nieces, 
Kabir  quietly  suggested  ta  his  sister-in-law  that  the 
Greek  be  shown  a  sleeping  -  apartment  to  which  he 


ASHTORETH  65 

might  retire  when  he  would,  which  proved  to  be  im 
mediately. 

The  room  in  which  Charmides  finally  fell  asleep 
was  one  that  boasted  of  greater  luxury  than  he  had 
ever  known  before.  Walled  with  painted  tiles,  hung 
with  embroideries,  carpeted  with  rugs  from  far  Eastern 
looms,  and  lighted  by  a  hanging -lamp  of  wrought 
bronze,  it  presented  to  the  Greek  an  appearance  of  com 
fort  that  drew  from  him  a  long  sigh  of  content ;  and  he 
sank  to  sleep  on  the  soft  couch  with  the  name  of  Zeus 
on  his  lips  and  the  image  of  his  mother  in  his  heart. 

He  awoke  alone.  Kabir's  bed,  across  the  room, 
had  been  slept  on,  but  was  empty  now.  The  day 
light  about  him  was  dim  enough,  but  the  half-light 
gave  no  hint  of  the  hour ;  for  the  single  window  in  the 
room  was  scarcely  so  large  as  a  man's  hand.  Sounds 
of  life  were  to  be  heard  in  the  city  outside,  and  from 
the  house  around  him.  Once  really  awake,  then,  and 
conscious  of  his  whereabouts,  Charmides  rose  in  haste, 
dressed,  smoothed  his  hair,  looked  for  water  but  found 
none,  and  proceeded  with  some  hesitation  into  the 
living-room.  This  he  found  to  be  occupied  only  by 
one  of  the  children,  a  little  girl,  who  greeted  him  shy 
ly,  and  bade  him  eat  of  the  food  that  had  been  left 
for  him  upon  the  table.  Charmides,  as  timid  as  the 
child,  forbore  to  ask  for  the  water  without  which  he 
felt  it  impious  to  begin  the  day,  and  sat  down,  as  he 
was  bid,  to  a  repast  of  millet  bread,  buffalo  milk,  and 
lentils.  These  things  he  finished,  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  little  Phoenician,  and  then  looked  about  him 
wondering  what  to  do.  It  was  evidently  late.  By  a 
question  or  two  he  learned  that  Kabir  and  Abdosir 
had  been  gone  from  the  house  for  an  hour  or  more, 
that  Zarada  was  out  on  a  visit,  and  that,  in  all  prob 
ability,  it  would  be  noon  before  any  one  returned  to 
the  house.  With  this  knowledge  Charmides  sought 
his  mantle  and  cap,  and  went  forth  into  the  city  to 
learn  something  of  Tyre  for  himself. 


66  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

Tyre  by  daylight  was  no  less  unlovely  but  rather 
more  interesting  than  Tyre  at  night.  Charmides, 
accustomed  to  the  well-ordered  dignity  of  life  in  his 
distant  Doric  city,  was  amazed  and  bewildered  here, 
in  the  midst  of  this  labyrinth  of  narrow  streets  choked 
with  men  and  animals.  Having  some  idea  of  direc 
tion,  he  felt  no  dread  of  losing  his  way,  but  wandered 
on  at  will,  hurried  and  pushed  from  one  side  of  a  street 
to  the  other,  always  too  diverted  by  what  he  saw  to 
resent  the  interferences.  He  chanced  presently  on  a 
broader  thoroughfare,  one  fairly  well  kept,  stretching 
in  a  straight  line  from  north  to  south.  This,  as  he 
guessed,  was  the  principal  street  of  the  city,  terminat 
ing,  as  he  could  not  know,  on  the  .north,  in  the  great 
agenorium,  or  open  mart,  east  of  the  Sidonian  harbor, 
and,  on  the  south,  in  the  grove  and  temple  of  Melkart. 
Charmides  moved  along  up  this  street,  admiring  the 
solid  stone  buildings  that  lined  it  on  either  side ;  watch 
ing  the  graceful  chariots  drawn  by  richly  caparisoned 
horses,  and  driven  by  men  who,  from  their  dress,  were 
evidently  rulers  in  the  oligarchy;  and  constantly  an 
noyed  by  the  importunities  of  beggars  or  venders  of 
cheap  wares  that  were  to  be  found  everywhere  through 
the  city,  but  most  of  all  on  this  street.  He  had  walked 
farther  than  he  knew,  for  at  length  he  came  in  sight 
of  the  sea  that  stretched  out  before  him  from  the  other 
side  of  a  great,  open  square  running  down  to  the  wa 
ter's  edge. 

Open  square  it  had  been,  no  doubt,  at  the  time  of 
its  planning;  but,  in  all  probability,  since  the  day  of 
completion,  no  one  had  ever  seen  it  empty.  Just  now, 
certainly,  there  was  not  a  spare  foot  of  pavement  in  its 
entire  area,  and  Charmides  looked  about  him  with  the 
wonderment  and  pleasure  of  a  child.  Directly  before 
him  were  the  shoe  and  sandal  venders,  who  occupied 
about  a  quarter  of  an  acre  of  space.  Shoes  were  an 
article  that  Charmides  had  never  seen  worn.  Their 
purpose  was  easy  to  divine,  however,  and  he  fell  to 


ASHTORETH  67 

admiring  the  cleverness  of  their  invention  and  the 
beauty  of  their  ornamentation.  Beyond  this  interest 
ing  spot  came  the  silk  and  cloth  merchants,  then  the 
leather  venders,  brass  and  metal  workers,  and  dealers 
in  Egyptian  and  Sidonian  jewelry.  To  the  left  of 
these  was  the  market,  where  grain,  fish,  fruits,  meat, 
and  wines  were  to  be  had ;  while  down  the  whole  east 
ern  edge  of  the  space  lay  a  row  of  dirty,  supercilious- 
looking  camels, .half  of  them  for  sale,  half  of  them 
owned  by  sellers  in  the  mart. 

Charmides  had  not  yet  begun  to  thread  a  path 
through  the  tangle  of  men  and  merchandise  when  he 
felt  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  turned  to  find  Kabir 
at  his  side. 

"So  you  are  here,  my  Charmides!  Have  you  come 
to  seek  us  out?  Who  directed  you  hither?" 

"I  came  by  chance  to  this  place,  not  knowing  you 
were  here.  It  is  wonderful!  I  have  not  seen  any 
thing  like  it  before." 

"No.  Selinous  certainly  has  no  such  place.  Here, 
indeed,  we  are  well  met.  Desert  needs  of  yours  may 
be  supplied  before  we  leave  the  market.  Now,  Char 
mides,  you  must  be  made  known  to  him  who  will  lead 
you  farther  into  the  East.  Hodo  the  Babylonian  is 
with  me.  Hodo!  Here!" 

Kabir  looked  round  and  beckoned  to  a  little  fellow 
who  had  left  him  to  examine  the  goods  of  a  cloth  mer 
chant  near  by.  At  Kabir's  call,  however,  he  turned, 
and,  seeing  Charmides,  came  over  to  his  friend's  side. 
Charmides  beheld  a  small  man,  hardly  five  feet  high, 
swathed  from  head  to  heels  in  white  garments  of 
rich  texture.  Well  as  they  were  worn,  however,  they 
could  not  conceal  the  semi-deformity  of  the  little  fel 
low.  He  was  altogether  crooked :  crooked  in  his  legs, 
in  his  back,  in  his  nose,  in  his  expression — an  ugly 
little  man  with  an  ugly  little  face  that  had  in  it  a 
singularly  infectious  gleam  of  humor. 

Hodo  looked  at  Charmides,  and  his  ugliness  gath- 


68  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

ered  and  broke  into  a  delighted  smile  that  transformed 
every  feature  of  his  face.  Charmides  looked  at  Hodo 
and  could  not  refrain  from  answering  the  smile  with  a 
gay  laugh.  Thenceforward  Hodo  felt  that  he  had 
Charmides  for  a  friend. 

"Now,  Theronides,  Hodo  will  go  with  us  into  the 
mart  here  and  will  tell  us  what  you  need  for  the  desert 
journey,  that  we  may  buy." 

"But  wrhat  things  should  I  need?  I  have  all  nec 
essary  garments,  as  many  as  I  can  carry  with  me, 
now." 

"What  to  wear  on  the  head  for  dust?"  demanded 
Hodo,  speaking  Phoenician  in  a  deep  and  rather  rich 
voice. 

"This  cap — and  my  fillet.  In  the  heat  I  shall  not 
need  even  those." 

"  Hump!"  Hodo  grinned,  crookedly.  "  I  have  crossed 
the  desert  nineteen  times,  young  Greek,  and  I  will  tell 
you  what  you  must  wear.  See — you  are  a  yellow 
man,  and  your  skin  is  as  thin  as  a  Phrygian's,  while 
mine  is  like  leather.  Your  hair  is  too  fine  to  shield 
you  at  all  from  the  fierce  rays  of  Shamash.  There 
must  be  a  square  of  silk  to  wind  about  your  head,  and 
two  thicknesses  of  muslin  to  protect  your  neck  in  the 
back.  Then,  if  you  think  me  versed  in  desert  knowl 
edge,  you  will  leave  off  that  short  tunic  and  get  a  single 
linen  garment  that  will  cover  you  dow^n  to  your  heels. 
You  will  want  a  light  cloak,  perhaps,  for  night,  for 
comfort ;  but  you  will  not  often  wear  it.  The  rains  are 
over.  Summer  is  upon  us.  None  will  suffer  from 
cold  upon  the  desert." 

Charmides  listened  closely  to  this  speech,  yet  was 
not  able  to  understand  all  that  the  Babylonian  said, 
for  he  spoke  Phoenician  as  thickly  as  a  Phoenician 
spoke  Greek.  The  rhapsode,  therefore,  turned  appeal- 
ingly  to  Kabir,  who  explained  the  words  at  length; 
and  then,  Charmides  having  very  sensibly  put  himself 
into  Hodo's  hands,  the  three  proceeded  to  make  the 


ASHTORETH  69 

necessary  purchases,  for  which  Kabir  paid,  while  Char- 
niides  repaid  him  from  his  bag  at  Kabir's  abode.  On 
their  return  walk  Charmides  questioned  Hodo  as  to 
when  and  whence  their  caravan  was  to  start,  and  he 
found  that  it  wrould  be  but  two  days  before  men  and 
camels  assembled  on  the  mainland,  in  a  little  square 
opposite  the  Egyptian  harbor. 

"And  we  do  not  go  straight  to  Babylon?" 

"As  straight  as  will  be  well  in  this  season.  Damas 
cus  first,  then  out  and  over  the  desert.  It  is  the  easiest 
route — twenty  days'  ride  from  the  gate  of  Six  Thieves." 

"And  you  come  now  from  Babylon?" 

"  Two  months  ago  I  was  there,  Greek.  Kabir  know- 
eth  it." 

Charmides  nodded  apologetically  and  said  no  more. 
Kabir  watched  for  the  light  to  come  into  his  eyes,  and 
waited  for  a  certain  question.  But  the  youth  kept 
silent,  and,  after  a  pause,  the  Babylonian  took  the 
words  out  of  Kabir's  mouth  and  rushed  in  upon  the 
young  man's  thoughts. 

"  It  is  said,  Greek,  that  you  take  this  long  journey 
for  the  sake  of  our  goddess,  the  lady  Istar,  queen  of  the 
gods  of  Babylon." 

Kabir  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  those  of  Charmides, 
but  failed  to  see  any  interest  come  into  the  youth's  ex 
pression.  Instead,  a  frown  spread  itself  over  the  fair 
forehead,  and  the  young  mouth  straightened  omi 
nously. 

"The  object  of  my  journey  matters  little,"  was  his 
low-voiced  reply. 

Hodo's  eyes  stretched-  open.  He  sent  a  grimace 
of  astonishment  to  Kabir,  and  silence  followed  Char 
mides'  last  words.  The  three  walked  on  uncomfort 
ably,  till  there  came  sounds  of  a  surprising  chuckle 
from  the  Babylonian,  who,  as  both  his  companions 
turned  towards  him,  exclaimed,  irrepressibly : 

"  The  thought  of  Ishtar  brings  me  to  another.  Kabir 
— to-morrow,  I  remember,  is  the  day  of  the  semi-yearly 


70  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

rites  of  Ashtoreth — at  her  sanctuary  on  the  main 
land." 

For  a  second  or  two  Kabir  did  not  reply.  He  was 
musing — on  a  subject  relative  to  Charmides'  girlish 
purity.  Finally  he  said:  "Yes.  The  yearly  festi 
val  of  Tammuz  took  place  a  month  ago.  To-morrow 
is  the  festival  of  the  virgin  rites.  We  will  go — all 
three.  You,  Charmides,  shall  see  the  ceremonies  of 
our  Aphrodite,  Astarte  of  the  Mazzarines.  She  is  our 
Tynan  Istar." 

Charmides  looked  at  him  with  new  animation.  "  Do 
they  offer  sacrifice?" 

"Yes — in  the  grove — doves  and  lambs,  and  one 
young  bullock.  But  the  real  ceremony  takes  place 
within  the  temple.  Knowing  but  little  of  our  Eastern 
customs,  you  will  do  well  to  see  that." 

Charmides  nodded  acquiescence,  and  Hodo  chuckled 
to  himself  again.  But  the  silence  that  followed  last 
ed  till  they  had  once  more  reached  the  house  of  Ab- 
dosir. 

During  the  remainder  of  that  day  Charmides  made 
no  remark  on  the  subject  of  the  amusement  promised 
for  the  morrow.  Kabir  tried  to  draw  him  to  it  by  talk 
ing  of  the  great  temples  of  Melkart,  Baal,  and  the 
Olympian  Zeus  that  were  on  the  island.  But  Char 
mides  seemed  to  be  developing  a  surprising  and  un 
necessary  taciturnity,  for  which  the  Phoenician,  re 
garding  him  as  extraordinarily  young,  would  hardly 
have  given  him  credit;  and,  before  the  evening  was 
over,  Kabir  was  moved  to  consider,  a  little  more  closely, 
how  much  depth  of  character  really  lay  behind  that 
open  and  ingenuous  personality. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Charmides'  silence  was  the  result 
of  a  chance  remembrance  of  his  last  talk  with  his 
mother,  mingled  with  a  prophetic  intuition  of  what 
the  morrow  would  bring  forth.  When  the  morrow 
arrived,  however,  and  Hodo,  gay  in  red  embroideries, 
came  with  it,  Charmides  appeared  in  his  holiday  gar- 


ASHTORETH  71 

merits,  and  seemed  as  ready  as  his  companions  to 
set  forth  to  the  holy  place. 

The  grove  and  temple  of  Ashtoreth,  or  Astarte,  of 
Tyre,  were  outside  the  city  proper,  and  lay  on  the 
mainland,  south  of  the  Egyptian  harbor.  From  the 
spot  where  ferry-boats  left  one  after  the  passage  of  the 
narrow  channel,  there  was  a  walk  of  nearly  a  mile 
southward  to  the  entrance  of  the  grove.  This  was 
marked  by  open  gates  and  two  ill-carved  stone  stat 
ues,  the  subjects  of  which  Charmides  regarded  with 
haughty  displeasure.  His  first  impression,  however, 
was  ameliorated  by  the  great  beauty  of  the  wood, 
where  cedar  and  cypress  trees  grew  at  will,  while  the 
shaded  ground  was  kept  clear  of  leaves  and  brush, 
and  was  covered  with  a  rare  velvet  turf.  The  cool 
ness  and  shade  to  be  found  beneath  the  great  branches, 
after  the  pitiless  sunshine  through  which  they  had  been 
walking,  was  delicious ;  and  the  Greek  would  willingly 
have  given  the  afternoon  to  wandering  here,  watching 
the  golden  shadows  and  exploring  the  sinuous  paths 
that  wound  everywhere  before  him.  He  did  not,  how 
ever,  venture  to  suggest  this  course.  There  was  now 
a  stream  of  men  passing  and  following  them  to  the 
temple.  Hodo  was  half  running  in  his  eagerness, 
and  Kabir  himself  had  perceptibly  quickened  his  pace. 
Neither  of  them  spoke,  and  the  Greek  was  free  to 
watch  the  people  around  him,  to  marvel  at  the  rich 
ness  of  their  garments,  the  profusion  of  their  jewelry, 
and  the  extreme  animation  of  their  faces.  He  caught 
glimpses,  also,  of  three  stone  altars,  carved  in  indis 
tinguishable  bas-relief,  covered  with  offerings,  and 
attended  by  yellow-robed  priestesses,  with  whom,  in 
deed,  the  way  to  the  temple  was  thronged.  It  was 
ten  minutes'  walk  from  the  entrance  of  the  grove  be 
fore  the  temple  itself  was  reached. 

A  broad,  low,  badly  proportioned  building  of  stone, 
colonnaded  with  pillars  of  Assyrian  design  and  start- 
lingly  disagreeable  to  the  Greek  eye,  frieze  and  pedi- 


72  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

ment  carved  with  gross  caricatures  of  the  Phoenician 
pantheon,  and  a  sloping,  square  door-way  of  Egyptian 
style,  was  the  sight  that  met  Charmides'  eyes — the 
far-famed  sanctuary  of  Ashtoreth  of  Tyre.  The  crowd 
of  men  assembling  at  this  door-way  from  every  part  of 
the  grove  made  it  necessary  to  wait  one's  turn  before 
entering.  Hodo,  Kabir,  and  Charmides  had  difficulty 
in  keeping  together  in  the  crush,  but  finally  found 
themselves  inside. 

Here  was  darkness,  odorous  with  stale  incense,  dot 
ted  with  glimmering  lights,  moving  with  men.  Once 
within,  Kabir  and  Hodo  performed  some  prostrations 
and  muttered  a  prayer  or  two,  to  the  words  of  which 
Charmides  listened  rather  blankl}?-.  Then  the  three  of 
them  passed  from  the  entrance  hall  into  the  great  room 
of  the  temple.  This  was  lighted  from  the  roof  by  hun 
dreds  of  swinging  lamps;  and,  Charmides'  eyes  hav 
ing  become  accustomed  to  the  softened  light,  he  was 
able  to  see  everything  distinctly. 

The  entire  company  of  spectators  halted  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  room.  Opposite  them,  in  the  farther  wall, 
was  the  shrine  of  the  goddess,  in  which  her  statue 
stood.  About  this  shrine  hung  bronze  lamps  of  beau 
tiful  workmanship,  in  which  burned  perfumed  oil 
and  frankincense.  In  front  of  the  shrine,  which  was 
paved  with  African  marble,  was  a  slab  of  smooth 
granite,  eight  feet  long,  six  broad,  and  about  four 
in  height.  Around  this  knelt  a  company  of  priest 
esses,  all  but  one  of  whom  were  robed  in  }7ellow.  The 
one,  whose  bowed  head  could  hardly  be  seen,  was 
clad  in  a  single  garment  of  white  veiling;  and  her 
hair,  unbound,  fell  in  a  brown  curtain  to  the  floor  on 
either  side  of  her.  Charmides,  taking  his  eyes  from 
the  group  of  worshippers,  looked  again  around  the 
room.  About  it,  built  into  the  walls  behind  the  pillars, 
were  half  a  hundred  dim  niches,  shadowy,  unlighted, 
of  indeterminable  depth,  the  purpose  of  which  he  failed 
to  divine.  Except  for  these,  the  pillars,  the  shrine, 


ASHTORETH  73 

and  the  altar,  there  was  nothing  to  look  at  in  the 
room,  for  the  walls  were  bare  of  inscriptions,  and  there 
were  no  other  statues  than  the  one  of  Ashtoreth  in  her 
sanctum. 

This  survey  finished,  Charmides  turned  all  his 
attentions  to  the  group  of  priestesses  at  the  end  of 
the  room.  They  were  now  chanting  aloud ;  and,  from 
the  restlessness  among  the  company  of  men,  Char 
mides  decided  that  the  ceremony  was  approaching  a 
point  of  interest.  Presently  Kabir  seized  his  hand 
and  the  two  of  them  followed  in  the  wake  of  Hodo, 
who  was  eagerly  forcing  a  passage  into  the  front 
rank. 

All  those  in  the  first  row  were,  whether  by  chance 
or  design  Charmides  could  not  know,  young,  more 
or  less  comely,  and  dressed  with  extreme  elegance. 
As  the  rhapsode  gained  his  new  position  he  felt  upon 
him  the  eyes  of  half  the  company ;  and  not  a  few  whis 
pers  relative  to  his  fair  skin  and  his  fine  physique 
reached  his  ears.  His  speculation  as  to  the  reason 
for  this  was  presently  forgotten,  however,  for  the 
women  down  the  room  had  formed  into  a  semicircu 
lar  phalanx,  in  the  very  centre  of  which  stood  the 
white-robed,  unveiled  girl.  Then,  to  the  sound  of  a 
processional  chant,  all  of  them  began  a  slow  advance 
up  the  hall  towards  the  orderly  ranks  of  men.  The 
Greek  caught  a  new  order  of  whispers,  now,  that  rose 
about  him  on  all  sides.  Of  these  he  understood  here 
and  there  a  phrase  :  "  Beautiful  this  time  I"  "  Her  hair 
is  her  veil!"  "Ashtoreth  will  that  she  choose  me!" 
"Baal  did  well  to  let  her  come!"  And  then,  as  the 
chant  ended  and  the  women  halted  ten  feet  from  the 
front  row  of  men,  every  sound  ceased.  After  a  short 
pause  the  priestesses  separated  into  two  groups,  and 
from  their  midst  the  white  virgin  came  slowly  forth. 
At  her  appearance  every  man  dropped  upon  one  knee, 
Kabir  pulling  the  wide-eyed  Greek  down  beside  him. 
Again  there  was  a  pause,  during  which  Charmides 


74  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

felt  his  heart  beating  uncomfortably.  The  maiden 
was  regarding  the  ranks  of  men  before  her.  Slowly, 
fearfully,  her  eyes  moved  along  from  face  to  face, 
their  passage  marked  here  and  there  by  a  sharply 
drawn  breath  from  some  one  before  her.  Charmides, 
entirely  ignorant  of  the  meaning  of  this  rite,  watched 
her  with  tentative  interest.  She  was  young,  her 
face  as  white  as  her  robe,  her  big,  half-terrified  eyes 
of  a  dove-gray  color.  Pretty — very  pretty — she  was, 
as  pretty  as  Doris — but  not  beautiful.  Charmides 
had,  of  late,  been  picturing  too  divine  a  beauty  to  feel 
any  tremor  of  eagerness  before  this  gentle  priestess 
of  Ashtoreth. 

All  at  once  her  eyes  flashed  to  his.  He  drew  back, 
earnestly  hoping  that  she  would  pass  him  by.  But 
this  was  not  to  be.  The  gray  orbs  halted  at  the  blue 
ones,  moved  languidly  over  his  perfect  face,  descended 
to  his  shoulders — arms — body — and  at  last  a  faint 
tinge  of  red  crept  into  her  deathly  cheeks.  She  nod 
ded  once  to  him,  murmuring  half  a  dozen  indistin 
guishable  words.  Instantly  Charmides  felt  two  violent 
shoves,  the  one  from  Kabir  on  the  right,  the  other  from 
Hodo  on  the  left. 

"Rise!  Rise  to  your  feet!"  Kabir  whispered,  per 
emptorily. 

Charmides  obeyed. 

"Go  forward  to  her.     The  hierodules  will  take  you." 

Charmides  went  towards  the  girl.  Before  he  had 
reached  her  two  of  the  other  women  advanced  to  his 
side  and  took  him  by  the  hands,  at  the  same  time  re 
commencing  their  chant.  Thereupon  the  whole  com 
pany,  women  and  men,  began  a  slow  march  back 
towards  the  shrine.  Charmides  was  still  in  the  maze 
of  his  first  surprise.  He  walked  mechanically  be 
tween  his  conductresses,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  back 
of  the  sacrificial  maiden  who  moved  in  front  of  him. 
At  twenty  paces  from  the  altar  the  general  company 
stopped.  Only  Charmides,  the  girl,  and  two  priest- 


ASHTORETH  75 

esses  advanced  till  they  stood  directly  in  front  of  the 
shrine  with  the  altar  behind  them.  Then  a  hush 
fell  upon  the  multitude,  and  Charmides  experienced 
a  sudden  tremor — a  dread  of  what  was  to  happen 
next.  He  had  no  idea  whatever  for  what  purpose  he 
had  been  chosen,  whether  it  threatened  his  life,  en 
dangered  his  freedom,  or  gave  promise  of  honor. 
Kabir  had  been  eager  for  him  to  go,  however;  and  it 
was  evident  that  many  had  desired  his  place.  At 
any  rate,  the  blood  in  his  veins  was  Greek — and  Doric 
Greek.  This  thought  brought  tranquillity,  and  he 
stood  with  renewed  indifference  till  a  move  was  made 
that  struck  him  like  a  blow.  At  a  certain  phrase  in 
the  chant  the  two  women  stepped  to  either  side  of  the 
white  virgin,  unclasped  the  twro  wrought  pins  that 
held  her  robe  upon  the  shoulders,  and,  with  a  quick 
twist,  let  the  garment  fall  to  the  floor. 

There  was  an  impulsive  quickening  in  the  song. 
Slowly  the  girl  faced  Charmides,  her  head  drooping, 
her  hands  clasped  before  her,  her  brown  hair  falling 
about  her  shoulders.  Supported  on  either  side,  she 
moved  towards  him  till  her  knee  touched  his  tunic. 
Charmides  took  a  hasty  step  backwards,  not  hearing 
the  faint  sigh  that  escaped  her  lips.  Then  one  of 
the  priestesses  frowned. 

"  Take  her  up  to  Ashtoreth!"  she  said,  pointing  from 
the  girl  to  the  stone  altar. 

Now  at  last  Charmides  understood,  and  he  turned 
white  with  wrath.  For  an  instant  he  let  his  eyes  rest 
in  utter  scorn,  utter  disgust,  upon  the  three  women 
in  front  of  him.  Then  he -hurled  at  them  a  Greek 
phrase,  fortunately  incomprehensible  to  the  multitude. 
Lastly,  unheeding  the  look  of  abject  terror  that  was 
overspreading  the  face  of  the  girl,  he  turned  upon  his 
heel  and  began  to  walk  rapidly  down  the  long  hall  to 
the  door. 

By  this  time  the  chant  had  given  place  to  a  rising 
chorus  of  astonishment  and  wrath  on  the  part  of  the 


76  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

men,  and  of  woe  on  the  side  of  the  women.  Still  the 
Greek,  absorbed  in  his  own  displeasure,  kept  on  his 
way,  and  would  presently  have  been  outside  the  build 
ing,  when  Kabir,  darting  from  the  throng,  seized  him 
roughly  by  the  shoulders. 

"  Charmides !     Thou  fool !     What  do  you  ?" 

The  rhapsode,  frowning  angrily,  tried  to  shake  off 
his  companion,  but  Kabir's  hands  were  strong. 

"Know  you,  I  say,  what  you  do?" 

Charmides  turned  upon  him.  "I  will  not  dishonor 
her,  neither  myself!"  he  said,  in  a  voice  husky  with 
repression. 

"Dishonor — in  the  rites  of  Ashtoreth!  Nay.  you 
would  kill  her,  rather,  then?" 

Charmides  shrugged. 

"  You  have  refused  her  after  the  presentation.  That 
is  a  sign  that  she  is  displeasing  to  the  goddess.  She 
will  now  be  offered  up  upon  the  altar  of  death.  Her 
blood  must  wash  away  the  shame  you  put  on  her. 
Her  heart  will  be  cut  out  and  thrown  to  the  dogs  to 
eat." 

The  young  Greek  shivered  and  stood  passive.  His 
eyes  wandered  aimlessly  over  the  scene  before  him. 
Kabir  dropped  his  hold,  but  Charmides  made  no  move 
to  go  on.  He  seemed  to  be  considering.  The  com 
pany  was  eying  him  in  an  anxious  silence  that  had 
something  of  respect  in  it.  But  the  eyes  of  the  doomed 
girl  burned  upon  his  back  in  mute,  despairing  en 
treaty.  Every  murmur  had  died  away,  and  a  deadly 
hush  settled  over  the  great  hall.  The  lights  burned 
calmly  from  above,  and  the  odor  of  fresh  incense  be 
came  overpowering.  Still  the  shepherd  did  not  move. 
One  instant  more  and  Aris,  the  high-priestess,  would 
send  the  order  for  the  sacrificial  knife.  The  Greek's 
thoughts  wavered  vaguely  between  his  mother  and 
his  own  natural  instincts  of  purity  on  the  one  hand; 
and,  on  the  other,  the  exigencies  of  the  Phoenician 
religion.  The  struggle  was  fierce.  Heraia's  memory 


ASHTORETH  77 

was  infinitely  dear,  and  the  Greek  idea  of  manhood 
strong  within  him.  Still,  death — death  was  terrible 
to  his  mind ;  and  the  death  of  this  young  girl — 

His  meditations  were  interrupted  here.  Something 
had  suddenly  clasped  his  feet,  something  lay  twisted 
on  the  floor  before  him.  A  white  body,  half  covered 
with  the  long  locks  of  dishevelled  hair  that  flowed 
from  a  lowered  head,  lay  there  on  the  stones.  Two 
strained  arms  caught  at  his  knees.  A  faint  voice, 
choked  with  the  tears  of  despair,  was  begging  inco 
herently  for  the  life  that  he  could  give.  All  of  a  sudden 
he  melted.  He  bent  his  head,  drawing  a  long  breath 
of  resignation.  Then  he  stooped,  lifted  the  girl  in 
his  arms,  and  carried  her  rapidly  over  to  the  altar 
of  Ashtoreth.  And  the  great  bacchanal  that  followed 
upon  his  act  the  youth  neither  saw  nor  heard. 

Kabir  and  Hodo  were  both  of  them  abjectly  respect 
ful  to  Charmides  next  day.  For  all  his  defeat,  the 
youth  had  been  left  their  master,  and  he  knew  it.  The 
name  of  Ashtoreth  was  not  spoken  before  him  in 
Abdosir's  house;  no  mention  ever  after  did  either 
Phoenician  or  Babylonian  make  of  the  affair  of  yes 
terday  ;  and  in  one  day  more  Charmides  had  looked 
his  last  upon  the  city  of  the  sea. 

It  was  in  a  state  of  mental  chaos  that  Charmides 
began  his  journey  to  Babylon.  In  the  glare  of  mid 
day  the  long  row  of  well-watered  camels,  heavy  laden 
with  riches  of  the  West,  swayed  to  their  feet,  on  the 
mainland  of  Tyre,  and  .turned  their  heads  in  the  direc 
tion  of  Damascus.  Charmides  had  said  good-bye  to 
Kabir  an  hour  before,  and  now  sat  his  animal  with 
an  eager  light  in  his  eyes  and  a  clutch  of  regret  in  his 
heart — desire  for  the  new,  love  for  the  old.  He  tried 
hard  that  day  to  fix  his  mind  on  the  great  object  of 
his  journey,  the  goddess  of  Babylon,  whom  he  was 
so  soon  to  see.  But  all  things  around  him  were  new, 
all  things  fair,  and  soon  he  gave  up  the  attempt  at 


78  ISTAR   OF   BABYLON 

abstraction  to  watch  what  went  on  around  him.  Far 
ahead,  upon  the  foremost  camel,  was  Hodo,  the  leader 
of  the  caravan,  who,  with  his  desert  costume,  had  also 
donned  an  undeniable  dignity  of  demeanor.  Before 
and  behind  Charmides,  in  the  very  centre  of  the  line, 
sat  solemn  Orientals  whose  nationality  he  did  not 
know.  Far  to  the  right  stretched  flat,  fertile  fields 
of  grain.  To  the  left,  at  no  great  distance,  the  river 
Leontes  flashed  a  tumultuous,  sunlit  course  down  to 
the  sea.  Eastward,  in  front,  rose  an  uneven  line  of 
jutting  hills,  bathed  in  the  luminous,  tranquil  light  of 
intensely  pure  air.  The  day  was  hot,  the  motion  of 
the  camel  so  far  rather  soothing.  Charmides'  tur- 
baned  head  drooped.  His  eyelids  closed.  Thoughts  of 
Istar  were  mingled  with  memories  of  the  white  virgin. 
Presently,  then,  he  fell  asleep. 


V 
TO   THE   GATE    OF   GOD 

FIVE  days  later  the  camels  of  a  shortened  caravan 
passed  out  of  the  Hittite  city  and  turned  their 
faces  towards  the  southeast.  It  was  early  morning. 
Before  them  the  sky  was  radiant  with  promise  of  the 
coming  of  the  lord  of  day.  Behind  them,  Damascus 
slept.  Far  to  the  right,  a  mere  olive-colored  shadow 
on  the  horizon,  was  the  line  of  verdure  that  marked 
the  course  of  the  river  Jordan,  the  eastern  boundary  of 
Phoenicia.  Ahead,  and  on  every  side  for  endless 
miles,  in  infinite,  sparkling,  yellow  waves,  stretched 
the  desert,  a  vast,  silent  plain  of  death,  dreaded  by 
man  and  beast ;  a  foe  that  Assyrian  armies  had  found 
more  terrible  than  all  the  strength  of  Egypt;  that 
Babylon  in  her  mighty  decadence  knew  to  be  a  safer 
guard  against  plundering  hoards  than  all  her  tower 
ing  walls;  that  the  wandering  Hittites,  Damascenes 
born  of  the  burning  sand,  themselves  would  not  venture 
upon  at  this  season  of  the  growing  year.  And  into 
this,  light-hearted,  went  Charmides  the  Greek,  for  the 
final  proof  of  his  steadfastness,  the  final  trial  of  his 
strength,  for  which  the  reward  was  to  be  a  sight  of 
the  great  goddess — Ish-tar — ka — Bab-i-lu. 

Now,  indeed,  at  this  early  hour,  when  night's  sweetness 
had  not  yet  been  dispelled,  Charmides,  bareheaded,  sat 
smiling  at  the  sunrise,  at  the  novelty  of  the  sand-plain, 
at  the  steady,  awkward  trot  of  his  camel,  at  the  solem 
nity  of  the  turbaned  Babylonians  before  and  behind 
him,  and  at  Hodo's  crooked  little  figure  at  the  head  of 


8o  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

the  line.  There  were  twenty  camels,  well  packed  with 
articles  of  Tyrian  and  Damascene  manufacture,  and 
a  man  to  add  to -each  load.  On  the  back  of  every 
animal,  where  the  sight  of  it  would  not  continually 
tantalize  the  desert  traveller,  hung  a  water-skin,  still 
dripping  from  contact  with  the  well,  but  not  to  be  re 
plenished  for  five  weary  days.  Before  their  departure, 
Hodo  had  explained  to  the  Greek  the  best  hours  for, 
and  the  most  satisfying  methods  of,  drinking;  for 
these  things  had  been  reduced  to  a  minute  system 
by  traders,  in  seasons  when  wells  might  go  dry  and 
water  was  in  any  case  scarce.  In  consequence  of 
his  instructions,  and  the  determination  to  obey  them 
rigidly,  Charmides  found  himself  from  the  very  first  in 
a  state  of  thirst.  In  the  freshness  of  the  morning  this 
was  not  difficult  to  bear ;  but  by  noon,  when  the  whole 
sky  blazed  like  molten  gold  and  the  desert  was  a  plain 
of  fire,  the  desire  for  drink  increased  till  it  became  a 
torture  before  which  he  weakened  and  fell.  He  took 
more  than  a  cupful  of  water  from  his  skin  before  the 
tents  were  pitched  for  the  mid-day  rest,  and  he  felt 
himself  an  object  of  censure  for  the  entire  caravan ; 
though,  in  truth,  there  was  no  trader  of  them  all  but 
had  done  the  same  thing  many  times,  before  long  train 
ing  had  hardened  him  to  endurance. 

This  caravan  was  the  last  to  cross  the  desert  that 
year;  and  the  heat  bore  with  it  one  compensation. 
The  strong  guard  of  soldiers,  or  fighting-men,  that 
generally  accompanied  a  caravan  to  guard  it  from 
plunder  by  the  wild  desert  tribes,  had  been  dispensed 
with.  The  forefathers  of  the  modern  Bedawin  were 
not  hardier  than  their  descendants,  and  they  made  no 
dwelling-place  in  the  Syrian  desert  at  this  season. 
It  was,  indeed,  dangerously  late  for  the  passage ;  and 
each  succeeding  day  brought  a  fiercer  sun  and  shorter 
hours  of  darkness.  The  rest  at  noon  was  long, 
but  there  was  no  halt  at  all  by  night.  Oases  wells 
were  low,  and  there  must  be  no  lagging  by  the  way. 


TO    THE    GATE    OF    GOD  81 

Hodo  held  daily  council  in  his  tent  with  the  three  eldest 
traders,  to  make  sure  of  the  best  course  to  keep,  and  to 
save  the  few  miles  possible  to  save.  At  one  of  these 
conferences,  some  days  out,  the  man  that  rode  behind 
Charmides,  Ralchaz  by  name,  spoke  to  Hodo  of  the 
young  Greek,  suggesting  that  Charmides  was  bearing 
the  journey  hardly,  and  would  need  care  if  he  were 
to  cross  the  desert  alive.  Hodo,  a  little  conscience- 
smitten  with  the  knowledge  of  neglect,  hastened  off 
to  the  tent  occupied  by  Charmides  and  two  of  the 
younger  men.  Here  he  found  that  it  was,  indeed, 
high  time  to  attend  to  the  rhapsode's  condition. 

Charmides  was  lying,  face  down,  on  the  rug  that 
covered  the  sand  in  the  tent.  Motionless,  his  body 
rigid,  his  hands  clasped  in  front  of  him,  making  no 
sound,  breathing  inaudibly,  he  lay;  while  at  a  little 
distance  his  two  companions,  Babylonians,  squatted 
together  over  their  meal  of  locust  -  beans,  bread,  and 
dates,  now  and  then  regarding  the  youth  with  a  kind 
of  wistful  helplessness. 

Hodo,  scarcely  looking  at  the  other  two,  ran  to  Char 
mides'  side,  knelt  by  him,  and,  placing  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  cried  out: 

"Charmides!  Charmides!  Speak!  What  demon  of 
sickness  has  got  you?" 

He  spoke  in  Chaldaic,  using  the  idiom  that  a  Greek 
would  not  understand.  The  entreaty,  however,  had 
its  effect.  Charmides  made  an  effort,  rolled  upon  his 
back,  and  looked  up  at  the  master  of  the  caravan. 
Hodo  gave  a  quick  exclamation  of  dismay  and  cried 
out: 

"Tirutu!     Bring  me  some  water!" 

One  of  the  men  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Gladly!  Yet 
he  will  not  drink." 

"Not  drink!     Allat  help  us!     Why?" 

"  He  has  emptied  his  own  skin  and  will  not  accept  of 
wrater  from  ours." 

Hodo  nodded  his  understanding.     "  Go,  then,  to  my 


82  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

tent,  and  bring  one  of  the  skins  of  extra  water,  to 
gether  with  a  jar  of  the  wine  of  Helbon — and  see  that 
you  move  like  Raman!" 

Charmides  understood  not  a  word  of  this  conversa 
tion,  but  he  surmised  its  trend,  and  essayed  to  say 
something  in  Phoenician.  Coherent  speaking,  however, 
had  become  impossible;  for  his  tongue  was  swollen 
out  of  all  shape,  and  his  mouth  was  on  fire  with  fever. 
Hodo  laid  a  gentle  hand  upon  his  forehead,  smoothed 
the  hair  back  from  it,  noted  the  inflamed  and  pitiable 
condition  of  the  wide,  blue  eyes,  the  brilliant  fever- 
flush  that  burned  upon  the  fair  cheeks,  and  his  face 
grew  graver  still. 

"The  journey  will  go  hard  with  him/'  he  muttered. 

Tirutu  presently  returned  with  the  damp  pigskin 
on  his  shoulder,  and  a  small,  glazed  stone  flask  in 
his  right  hand.  Ustanni,  the  second  of  Charmides' 
fellow-tentsmen,  was  already  at  Hodo's  side  with  a 
bronze  cup.  This  they  filled  with  a  mixture  of  water 
and  wine,  and  then  Hodo,  lifting  the  Greek's  head 
upon  his  arm,  held  the  drink  to  his  lips.  Charmides' 
nostrils  quivered  like  an  animal's.  The  tears  started 
to  his  eyes,  and  there  was  a  convulsive  working  of 
the  saliva  glands  in  his  mouth.  For  one  agonized 
moment  he  resisted  the  temptation;  and  then,  with 
the  abandon  of  a  creature  half  crazed,  he  drank  at  a 
gulp  all  that  the  cup  contained,  and  begged  guiltily, 
with  his  fevered  eyes,  for  more.  Hodo  let  him  take 
all  that  he  wanted.  Then  food — bread,  dates,  and 
cooked  sesame  —  was  fed  him.  Next  his  eyes,  ren 
dered  almost  useless  by  the  desert  glare,  were  rubbed 
with  a  balm  brought  from  Hodo's  tent,  which  reduced 
their  fever  and  inflammation  in  a  miraculous  way. 
Two  hours  later,  at  the  forming  of  the  caravan,  Char 
mides'  camel  was  led  out  and  fastened  next  to  Hodo's 
at  the  head  of  the  line;  and  when  the  Greek,  walk 
ing  more  easily  than  for  three  days  past,  came  to 
mount,  he  found  a  full  water-skin  strapped  upon  the 


TO    THE   GATE    OF    GOD  83 

animal's  back,  and  two  little  jars  of  Hodo's  rare  wine 
balancing  each  other  on  either  side  of  its  neck.  Vent 
uring  to  remonstrate  feebly  at  this  lavish  generosity, 
the  rhapsode  was  silenced  by  a  flood  of  angry  eloquence 
from  Hodo,  who  finished  his  tirade  by  saying : 

"  Drink  as  often  as  yours  is  the  desire,  for  I  tell  you 
this  truly:  Shamash  is  pitiless  to  those  who  pray  not 
to  Mermer;  and,  in  drinking  of  his  gift,  you  will  do 
honor  to  the  god  of  Rains.  I  will  not  leave  you  be 
hind  me  in  the  desert,  Charmides;  and  yet  I  cannot 
carry  your  dead  body  on  to  Babylon.  Therefore 
you  will  do  well  to  live.  For  I  think  that  the  Lady 
Istar  will  be  displeased  if,  when  you  are  so  near,  you 
desert  her  for  the  Queen  of  Death.  So,  Charmides, 
again  I  bid  you  drink ;  shut  your  eyes  to  the  sun ;  eat 
and  sleep  as  you  can.  See  that  you  heed  these  wTords." 
And  with  a  little  chuckle  at  his  own  advice,  Hodo 
mounted  his  beast,  and,  after  the  usual  tumultuous 
rising,  with  many  shouts  and  much  wielding  of  his 
hide-whip,  set  the  caravan  once  more  in  motion. 

For  forty-eight  hours  more  Charmides,  making 
a  strong  effort,  stubbornly  refusing  to  admit  that 
he  was  still  sick,  made  an  appearance  of  recovery 
from  his  indisposition.  He  talked  with  Hodo,  asking 
welcome  questions  about  trade,  life,  and  home.  He 
spoke  to  those  members  of  the  caravan  from  whom 
hitherto  he  had  held  aloof.  And  he  made  a  desperate 
effort  to  learn  from  the  leader  a  few  phrases  in  the 
Babylonish  tongue.  This  last,  however,  proved  a  Her 
culean  task.  The  Greek  race  was  notoriously  the  least 
apt  of  any  nation  at  learning  foreign  tongues.  Phoe 
nician  had  been  difficult  enough;  but  when  it  came 
to  the  harsh,  thick  accents,  the  many  syllables,  and 
the  curious  construction  of  this  other  language,  the 
language  of  the  people  of  Istar,  Charmides  found  it 
an  apparently  hopeless  task,  from  which,  in  his  pres 
ent  condition,  he  shrank  miserably. 

The  desert  days  crept  on.     The  hours  from  red  dawn 


84  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

to  redder  twilight  were  filled  with  fainting  prayers 
for  night  and  darkness.  And  when  night  came,  and 
with  it  the  golden  moon,  it  seemed  that  the  heat  scarcely 
lessened ;  for  up  from  the  yellow  sands  rose  a  burning 
stream  of  da37-gathered  fire  that  made  the  very  camels 
wince,  and  called  forth  many  a  smothered  curse  and 
groan  from  the  long-seasoned  men.  Yet  these  nights 
were  wonderful  things.  The  high  moon  overshadowed 
all  her  lesser  lights,  so  that  the  sky  around  was  strung 
with  few  stars;  but  these  glittered  with  dazzling  ra 
diance  against  their  luminous  background.  And 
when  the  dread  dawn  approached,  and  the  moon  grew 
great  on  the  western  horizon,  balanced  by  the  long, 
palpitating  lines  of  light  in  the  east,  the  sight,  to  any 
but  desert  travellers,  was  a  thing  to  pray  to.  Charmi- 
des,  indeed,  in  spite  of  his  condition,  did  marvel  at 
the  miracles  of  the  sky.  But  his  lyre  was  heavy  in 
his  hands,  his  voice  too  cracked  for  song,  and  he  could 
but  sit,  drooping,  on  his  camel,  head  throbbing,  body 
on  fire,  drinking  in  the  golden  fire,  and  wondering 
vaguely  if  he  should  ever  find  the  Babylon  that  he 
sought,  or  whether  Apollo  had  destined  him  for  a 
different  and  a  higher  place. 

Another  besides  the  Greek  had  begun  to  speculate 
on  the  same  subject.  Hodo,  with  his  Babylonish 
idea  of  the  dreary  after-life,  watched  his  charge  with 
an  anxiety  and  a  grief  that  betrayed  a  surprising 
affection  for  the  youth.  Though  Charmides  suffered 
no  longer  from  thirst,  though  Hodo's  own  food  was 
prepared  for  him,  though  the  best  camel  in  the  caravan 
was  at  his  disposal,  he  grew  weaker  and  yet  more 
weak,  and  his  fever  increased  till  the  desert  sands 
themselves  were  no  hotter  than  his  skin.  On  the 
eighteenth  day  of  the  journey  Charmides  was  lift 
ed  from  his  animal  at  the  noon  halt,  talking  inco 
herently  of  Selinous,  of  Heraia,  of  Kabir,  and  Apollo. 
He  showed  no  sign  of  recognizing  Hodo  and  the  pity 
ing  traders  that  clustered  about  the  tent  where  he 


TO    THE    GATE    OF    GOD  85 

lay.  Rather,  he  gave  them  strange  names  which 
they  had  never  heard;  he  talked  to  them  in  his  own 
language;  and  he  tried  continually  to  sing  in  his 
cracked,  harsh  voice.  Hodo  watched  him  doubtfully 
for  a  time;  then  his  lips  straightened  out  and 
his  crooked  face  grew  grim.  He  dismissed  every 
one  from  his  tent,  and  set  himself  to  watch  over 
the  sick  man  alone.  Gradually  Charmides  sank 
into  a  drowsy  state,  and,  five  hours  later,  when  the 
camels  were  reloaded  and  placed  in  line  for  the  long 
night  march,  he  was  still  but  half  conscious.  Hodo 
had  him  lifted  upon  his  camel  and  strapped  there, 
since  he  showed  himself  unable  to  sit  upright.  A 
moment  or  two  later  the  cry  for  the  march  was  given, 
and  the  little  procession  started  forward  at  its  usual 
trot.  Next  morning  Charmides  lay  limply  forward 
upon  his  animal's  neck,  in  a  state  of  irresistible  coma ; 
and  Hodo  mentally  prepared  to  bury  him  there  in 
the  sand  before  another  dawn.  All  day,  indeed,  the 
Greek  hovered  on  the  borderland  of  death;  yet,  since 
he  had  not  passed  it  when  the  halt  was  ended,  he  went 
on  again  with  the  rest  in  the  late  afternoon. 

For  twelve  hours  now  the  rhapsode  had  been  un 
conscious.  It  was,  perhaps,  the  sudden  renewal  of 
motion,  after  the  mid-day  rest,  that  roused  him.  At 
all  events,  the  caravan  was  scarcely  moving  before 
his  eyes  lost  their  glazed  stare,  and  he  half  closed 
them  while  he  looked  about  him.  It  was  a  pleasant 
hour  of  the  afternoon.  Behind  him  the  sun  was 
nearing  the  horizon,  and  in  the  sky  overhead  floated 
twTo  or  three  feathery  shreds  of  cloud — a  gladsome 
sight.  With  an  effort,  in  which  he  discovered  how 
very  \veak  he  had  become,  the  rhapsode  turned  him 
self  till  he  lay  in  such  a  position  that  he  could  watch 
the  sunset.  He  had  almost  an  hour  to  wait — a  long, 
hot,  drowsy  hour,  during  which,  however,  he  did  not 
drop  back  into  torpor.  As  the  sun  sank,  a  ridge  of 
white,  billowry  clouds,  such  as  are  almost  never  to  be 


86  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

seen  in  those  skies  in  summer,  rose  to  catch  the  falling 
globe.  And  when  the  fire  reached  them,  Charmides 
quivered  with  delight  to  see  the  flood  of  color — scarlet 
and  purple,  and  pale,  pinkish  gold — that  ran  over  the 
white  mass.  A  valley  between  two  of  these  lofty 
hills  received  the  central  stream  of  blood-fire,  and  on 
this  blinding  spot  the  Greek  fixed  his  eyes  and  gazed, 
till  his  brain  reeled  with  the  seething  glory.  When 
the  sun  had  left  the  world  and  the  other  lights  grew 
pale,  this  one  place  retained  all  its  brightness.  The 
watcher  was  too  feeble  even  to  wonder  at  the  phenom 
enon;  nor  did  he  marvel  when,  out  of  this  bank  of 
fire,  a  figure  began  to  resolve — a  figure  human  in  form 
and  yet  most  splendidly  divine.  There  was  a  face  that 
glowed  with  the  hues  of 'the  evening,  framed  in  short, 
waving  locks  of  auburn  red,  still  fiery  with  the  sunset, 
and  crowned  with  a  circlet  of  silver  stars  that  burned 
radiantly  through  the  coming  dusk.  Then  Charmides 
perceived  that  all  the  clouds  had  formed  into  a  flowing 
garment  that  enveloped  the  body  of  the  apparition. 
When  the  glow  was  quite  gone,  and  purple  shadows  had 
stolen  softly  through  the  whole  sky,  the  mighty  figure 
stood  out  clearly  and  more  clear,  till  every  fold  in  the 
royal  vestment  was  distinct,  till  the  two  bright  streaks 
that  had  stretched  out  on  either  side  of  the  shoulders 
had  become  wings  of  silver,  and  the  patch  of  gold  low 
on  the  right  was  a  lyre,  ready-strung.  The  vision  was 
complete.  Charmides,  now  .but  half  sensible,  scarcely 
noting  the  cool  breath  of  the  descending  night,  watched 
and  thirsted  for  what  he  knew  must  come. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait.  As  the  first,  faint  star 
came  out  into  the  evening,  the  heavenly  figure  moved, 
floating  in  stately  swiftness  upon  his  outstretched 
wings  towards  the  wormlike  caravan  that  crawled 
across  the  sands.  And  as  he  moved  he  lifted  the 
lyre,  drawing  his  hand  across  its  strings.  Charmides 
gave  a  faint  gasp.  It  was  as  if  his  body  had  been 
plunged  into  a  running  stream.  Allaraine's  music 


TO    THE    GATE    OF    GOD  87 

swept  across  his  senses,  now  in  the  faintest,  long- 
drawn  vibration,  that  drew  the  soul  to  one's  lips  and  let 
it  hang  there,  seeking  to  follow  the  flight  of  the  sound ; 
now  in  broad  chords  that  swept  like  the  storm-wind 
over  the  plain;  again,  melting  into  melody  that  bore 
one  to  the  shore  of  the  sunlit  sea.     The  Heavenly 
One  played  on  while  the  shepherd,  in  helpless  ecstasy, 
lay  back,  unnerved  and  numb,  held  to  the  camel  only 
by  the  thongs  with  which  Hodo  had  bound  him  there. 
It  was  a  long  time,  though  how  long  the  rhapsode 
could  not  tell,  before  he  was  roused  by  a  warm  thrill, 
to  find  that  the  bard  of  the  skies  floated  beside  him, 
one  of  the  effulgent  wings  spreading  out  over  his  body, 
the  light  from  it  bathing  his  whole  figure  in  a  stream 
of  strength-giving  fire.     And  even  in  his  amazement 
Charmides  wondered  why  he  heard  no  sound  from  any 
member  of  the  caravan.     All  was  still  around  him. 
Star-spangled  darkness  was  over  them  all.     The  moon 
had  not  yet  risen.     Hodo  was  nodding  on  his  camel, 
and  many  of  the  traders   were  in  their  first  sleep. 
Only  he,  only  the  Charmides  whom  they  had  thought 
dying,  was  awake  to  welcome  the  messenger  of  the 
gods  that  honored  them  by  his  coming.     The  Greek, 
lying  under  the  shadow  of  the  silver  wing,  felt  that  a 
prayer  or  some  other   fitting   acknowledgment  of  the 
presence  should  be  made.     So  he  struggled  to  an  up 
right  position  and  raised  .his  face  to  that  of  the  god. 
Slowly  the  star-crowned  head  turned  to  him,  and  a 
pair  of  deeply  glowing  eyes,  filled  with  benign  pity, 
and    great    with    suffering,  looked    upon    the  youth. 
Charmides'  lids  fell  shut  in  sudden,  ecstatic  terror,  and, 
while  his  head  was  bent,  he  felt   upon  his  hair  the 
touch  of  the  god.     Instantly  he  fell  back.     Then,  once 
upon  his  left  eye  and  once  upon  his  right,  came  the 
imprint  of  the  divine  mouth.     With  the  kisses  black 
ness  rolled  over  him.     His  spirit  slept. 

Morning,   clear,  cloudless,   infinitely  stifling,  swept 
over  the  desert.     Hodo,  who  had  drowsed  through  the 


88  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

night,  lifted  his  head  and  looked  about  him,  trying  to 
define  the  sense  of  weight  at  his  heart.  He  realized  it 
presently,  and,  reluctant  with  fear,  turned  and  looked 
behind  him.  Yes.  The  dread  was  justified.  Char- 
mides  lay  white  and  limp  upon  his  camel.  They  must 
bury  him  that  day  under  the  yellow  sand  of  this  godless 
waste.  Hodo's  crooked  little  face  screwed  up  spas 
modically.  Then  he  gave  the  long,  quavering  cry 
that  meant,  "Halt  the  caravan."  With  some  little 
difficulty  the  camels  were  reined  up,  and  all  watched 
Hodo  make  the  dismount  and  run  to  the  side  of  the 
animal  on  which  the  Greek  was  bound.  Then  they 
understood;  and  a  long,  low,  minor  wail,  the  greeting 
to  death,  rose  from  every  throat.  It  stopped  with  ex 
treme  suddenness  when  Hodo  gave  a  sudden  shout  of 
amazement.  Every  trader  saw  Charmides  suddenly  sit 
up,  and  a  few  directly  behind  heard  his  voice,  stronger 
than  for  a  week  past,  cry  to  his  friend  a  Phoenician 
greeting. 

"Charmides  is  not  dead!"  shouted  the  leader,  in 
unmistakable  delight.  "It  is  a  miracle!  He  is  well 
again!  The  fever  is  gone!" 

The  rhapsode  smiled,  and  spoke  his  thanks  to  Hodo 
for  all  the  past  care ;  but  of  how  he  had  been  made  well 
he  said  not  a  word,  for  he  knew  that  the  miracle  had 
been  for  him  alone.  At  the  noon  halt  the  merchants 
one  by  one  came  up  to  him,  pressing  his  hand  to  their 
breasts  and  giving  every  expression  of  friendly  joy  at 
his  recovery.  And  fully  recovered  he  was,  indeed. 
During  the  succeeding  days  his  fever  did  not  return; 
nor  did  the  long  hours  of  the  march  tire  him  as  hither 
to.  He  returned  now  to  the  tent  that  he  had  at  first 
occupied;  and,  as  he  ate  and  slept  with  his  Baby 
lonish  comrades,  he  tried  again,  with  more  success, 
to  acquire  a  few  phrases  in  the  new  tongue.  He 
found  his  companions  willing  and  patient  teachers. 
And,  truly,  patience  was  necessary.  The  lips  that 
could  so  aptly  form  the  melodious  syllables  of  the  most 


TOTHEGATEOFGOD  89 

beautiful  of  languages  were  awkward  beyond  belief 
at  mouthing  out  the  thick  words  and  strangely  con 
structed  phrases  of  the  Semitic  tongue. 

In  the  days  that  followed  his  recovery  Charmides 
passed  the  hours  of  the  march  in  profound  reveries, 
which,  as  the  days  went  by,  became  troubled.  One 
afternoon,  after  long  deliberation,  he  made  his  way  to 
Hodo's  tent.  That  little  fellow  was  sitting  cross- 
legged  on  a  rug,  drinking  khilbum  from  a  bronze  cup, 
and  blinking  thoughtfully  at  the  stretch  of  yellow 
sand  before  him.  Hodo  gave  cordial  greeting  to  the 
Greek,  proffered  him  wine,  and  then  sank  once  more 
into  silence.  Charmides  disposed  of  his  beverage  at 
a  draught,  and,  after  a  little  hesitancy,  looked  at  his 
companion  and  asked: 

"  Hodo,  how  many  gods  do  thy  people  worship?" 

The  Babylonian  looked  up  quickly.  "Twelve — of 
the  great  gods,  without  Asshur,  whom  the  Assyrians 
brought  among  us,  besides  many  demons,  many  spirits, 
and  Mulge  and  Allat  of  the  under-world.  Why  do  you 
ask?" 

"Because  I  would  learn  which  it  is  among  your 
gods  that  is  winged  with  silver,  crowned  with  stars, 
dressed  in  a  purple  vesture,  and  carries  in  his  right 
hand  a  lyre  of  gold." 

Hodo  screwed  his  face  into  a  puzzled  knot.  "  Stars 
— wings — purple  vesture — lyre — I  do  not  know.  Never 
have  I  heard  that  any  of  the  gods  carried  a  lyre.  It  is 
not  an  instrument  much  known  to  us.  In  the  sacred 
scriptures  Bel  is  said  to  carry  a  staff,  and  I  have 
seen  him  on  the  walls  of  the  temple  with  wings.  So 
also  Namtar  flies.  But  the  rest— how  do  you  know 
these  things?" 

"This  god  appeared  to- me  in  a  dream,"  replied  the 
rhapsode. 

Hodo  found  nothing  to  say  to  this,  and  Charmides 
also  was  silent.  The  Babylonian  refilled  their  wine- 
cups,  and,  after  they  had  been  emptied,  the  Greek 


90  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

rose  and  left  the  tent,  unsatisfied,  yet  deterred  by  an 
indefinable  feeling  from  talking  further  on  the  subject 
of  the  vision. 

So  the  weeks  went  by,  and  the  moon  waned  and 
grew  young  again,  until,  upon  the  twenty-first  day 
after  leaving  Damascus,  they  were  but  forty-eight 
hours  out  of  the  Great  City.  That  afternoon,  just 
after  the  start  was  made,  when  the  camels,  after  more 
water  than  usual,  were  moving  briskly  over  the  sand, 
Charmides'  eyes,  wandering  to  the  distant  horizon, 
encountered  something  that  set  his  heart  wildly  throb 
bing. 

"Hodo!  Hodo!"  he  shouted.  "  It  is  the  city !  Look! 
The  Great  City!" 

From  Hodo,  in  front,  there  came,  after  a  minute's 
look,  a  ringing  laugh.  "Yes,  it  is  the  ghost  of  the 
false  city.  We  see  it  often  here  in  the  desert,  as  we 
see  lakes  and  trees  that  are  not.  Truly  it  is  a  strange 
thing." 

Charmides  heard  him  incredulously.  Before  his  eyes 
was  certainly  a  vision  of  mighty  walls,  and  square 
towers,  and  gates,  and  many  -  roofed  palaces  outlined 
against  the  heat-blurred  sky.  They  kept  their  places, 
too,  seeming  to  grow  more  and  more  distinct  as  the 
caravan  proceeded.  The  rhapsode  closed  his  eyes 
and  opened  them  again.  It  was  still  there.  Yes,  he 
could  now  see  the  groups  of  palm-trees  and  faint  out 
lines  of  olive  foliage  around  the  walls ;  and  presently, 
when  a  broad,  blue  river  was  to  be  seen  winding  its 
way  from  east  to  west  through  the  plain,  Charmides 
turned  on  his  camel  and  called  to  Tirutti  behind : 

"Is  not  yonder  city  indeed  Babylon,  Tirutu?" 

But  the  trader  smiled  and  slowly  shook  his  head, 
and  Charmides,  half  angry  .and  wholly  unconvinced, 
turned  again  to  the  sight  that  entranced  him.  Clear 
and  straight,  for  ten  minutes  more,  it  stood  out  against 
the  sky.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  the  city  vanished  in  one 
quiver,  and,  where  it  had  been,  only  the  dark  horizon- 


TO   THE   GATE   OF   GOD  91 

line,  straight  and  unbroken,  stretched  away  as  usual. 
Charmides  was  sad  that  the  dream  had  vanished ;  but 
he  could  laugh  at  himself  when  Hodo  turned  to  look 
at  him  with  good-natured  amusement.  Still,  the  pict 
ure  remained  with  him,  and  came  to  seem,  in  after 
years,  his  first  impression  of  the  far-famed  city  that 
was  to  be  his  home. 

The  march  that  night  was  more  rapid  than  usual, 
and  the  halt  next  day  not  made  till  the  heat  was  past 
bearing.  At  the  noon  meal  mirth  ran  high,  and  wine 
and  water  were  drunk  with  an  abandon  possible  only 
to  men  who  had  for  three  weeks  practised  a  cruel  re 
straint.  Twenty-four  hours  more  would  bring  them  to 
Babylon,  and  already  they  were  on  the  borders  of  civ 
ilization  and  fertility. 

On  this  day  Charmides  sat  apart  from  his  compan 
ions,  feeling  no  desire  to  join  in  their  loud  joy.  When 
finally  the  company  lay  down  to  rest,  the  Greek  felt 
that  sleep  was  impossible  for  him,  and  he  went  off 
alone  to  the  little  tent  where  formerly  a  guard  had 
been  stationed,  but  which  was  empty  now.  Here  he 
sat  down  upon  the  sand  and  let  his  thoughts  hold 
unbridled  sway.  For  he  was  standing  on  the  thresh 
old  of  his  new  world,  and  he  could  not  but  pause 
for  a  moment  to  think  of  all  that  he  had  left  behind 
him.  It  was  a  melancholy  time,  but  not  a  long,  be 
fore  Hodo's  voice  was  to  be  heard  giving  the  signal 
for  the  last  mount.  Quickly  the  tents  were  struck 
and  bound  upon  the  camels;  and  then  the  little  pro 
cession  moved  away  towards  the  line  of  green  that 
bounded  the  yellow  sands. 

By  morning  they  found  on  all  sides  fertile  fields  of 
grain,  already  ripening.  And  Charmides'  sand-weary 
eyes  rested  with  untold  delight  on  the  rows  of  wheat, 
millet,  and  sesame,  barred  here  and  there  with  little 
streams  of  water  conducted  from  the  broad  canals  that 
ran  everywhere  through  the  land,  and  filled  all  the 
year  round  by  the  great  mother  -  stream,  Euphrates. 


92  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Now  and  then  the  caravan  passed  a  mud-village  set 
in  the  midst  of  a  broad  field  of  grass  where  goats, 
sheep,  and  bullocks  herded  and  donkeys  and  camels 
were  tethered  side  by  side.  The  people  of  these  villages 
were  of  the  lowest  Chaldaic  type,  nearly  black,  thick- 
lipped,  large-nosed,  and  short  of  stature.  Charmides 
regarded  them  with  dismay.  He  had  seen  one  or  two 
negro  slaves  brought  from  northern  Africa  to  Maz- 
zara,  and  they  had  seemed  to  him  less  than  human. 
Were  the  men  of  this  new  race  all  like  that?  Present 
ly,  however,  they  came  upon  a  reassuring  sight.  The 
caravan  passed  one  of  the  large  stone  wells  that  stood 
in  the  middle  of  a  grain-field.  From  it  a  buffalo,  at 
work  in  his  rude  tread-mill,  was  drawing  water,  and 
beside  the  animal,  clothed  in  a  long,  white  garment, 
bearing  a  tall  jar  on  her  head,  one  hand  upraised,  the 
other  on  her  hip,  stood  a  slight  girl  with  a  skin  almost 
as  white  as  Charmides'  own.  Her  eyes  and  hair  were 
shining  black;  but  as  Charmides  looked  at  her  she 
flashed  a  smile  at  him,  showing  a  set  of  pearly  teeth, 
and,  a  moment  later,  laughing  aloud,  a  pure,  ringing 
laugh,  that  in  some  v/ay  set  Charmides  into  a  cheery 
frame  of  mind  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

He  came  afterwards  to  know  that  it  was  not  a  native 
of  Babylonia  whom  he  saw  at  the  well,  but  one  of  a 
captive  race  resident  in  this  Eastern  land  since  the 
year  when  the  city  of  Solomon  fell  before  the  armies 
of  the  great  son  of  Nabopolassar.  But  there  were 
Babylonians  also  as  white  as  the  Jews,  their  Semitic 
blood  having  at  some  time  been  mingled  with  that  of 
Aryan  races,  Persians,  Elamites,  or,  perhaps,  Assy 
rians,  whom  a  thousand  years  of  a  colder  clime  had 
materially  bleached. 

This  last  day  became  fiercely  hot,  but  no  noon  halt 
was  made.  Each  man  munched  a  piece  of  bread  and 
a  handful  of  dates,  and  drank  a  cup  of  goat's  milk 
purchased  on  the  way,  and  the  camels  were  given 
twenty  minutes'  rest  and  an  armful  of  fodder  in  the 


TO    THE    GATE    OF    GOD  93 

shade  of  a  palm  grove  near  a  canal.  Then  the  march 
was  eagerly  resumed,  for,  even  now,  many  miles  away, 
the  gigantic  walls  of  Nimitti-Bel,  the  outer  wall  of 
the  city,  were  to  be  seen  towering  up  on  the  horizon. 
At  four  o'clock  they  passed  through  Borsip,  the  suburb 
of  Babylon,  towards  which  Hodo  cast  loving  eyes,  for 
it  was  his  home,  But  it  was  night  before  they  entered 
the  open  gateway  of  Nimitti-Bel,  that  incredibly  gigan 
tic  structure,  the  fame  of  which  had  spread  over  all 
the  East ;  and  it  took  nearly  an  hour  to  traverse  the 
sparsely  inhabited  space  between  that  and  the  smaller, 
inside  wall,  Imgur-Bel.  And  before  they  had  reached 
this,  Hodo,  turning,  called  to  the  Greek: 

"  We  sleep  to-night  outside  the  gate  of  Bel.     It  is 
too  late  for  admission  to  the  city.     The  sun  has  set." 

Charmides  nodded  an  absent-minded  acquiescence. 
His  thoughts  had  been  stunned  by  the  first  glimpse 
of  this  tremendous  city,  and  the  chaos  in  his  mind 
was  too  great  for  him  to  pay  attention  to  any  triv 
ial  remark.  Hitherto  his  measure  of  magnitude  of 
buildings  had  been  the  new  temple  of  Apollo  at 
Selinous,  with  its  length  of  four  hundred  feet,  its 
width  of  two  hundred,  its  columns  more  than  fifty 
feet  high:  this  for  a  temple,  the  third  largest  in  the 
Greek  world.  Now  he  was  confronted  by  a  wall,  a 
wall  of  defence,  forty  miles  long,  two  hundred  feet 
from  base  to  summit,*  and  of  such  a  thickness  that 
upon  its  top  two  four-horse  chariots  could  pass  with 
ease.  Watch-towers,  in  which  guards  lived,  rose  higher 
still  from  the  great  wall,  that  was  open  in  a  hundred 
places,  each  opening  provided  with  a  gate  of  wrought 
brass,  which  was  closed  from  sunset  to  dawn. 

As  the  caravan  neared  the  inner  and  lesser  wall 
and  approached  the  gate  of  Bel,  Charmides  saw  that 
before  it  was  a  square  space,  well  paved  and  arranged 

*  Herodotus  gives  it  as  higher  than  this,  a  few  writers  less, 
the  greatest  estimate  being  three  hundred  and  seventy-five  feet, 
the  least  seventy-five. 


94  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

with  stalls  and  booths,  in  which  a  goodly  number  of 
people  evidently  purposed  passing  the  night.  Each 
of  the  hundred  gates  was  provided  with  a  sort  of  cus 
toms  bureau,  where  all  goods  to  be  sold  in  the  city 
were  appraised  and  taxed  according  to  a  fixed  tariff. 
From  this  petty  fee  cattle,  grain,  and  fruits  were  not 
exempt;  and,  since  the  officer  of  taxes  was  off  duty 
from  sunset  till  sunrise,  it  frequently  occurred  that,  on 
a  market  or  festival  day,  each  rebit,  or  square  before 
a  gate,  was  occupied  through  the  night  by  those  that 
wished  to  enter  the  city  early  in  the  morning. 

As  the  line  of  weary  camels  came  to  a  final  halt,  and 
the  score  of  wearier  men  dismounted  for  the  last  time, 
there  was  one  general,  short  cry  of  thanksgiving,  in 
which  Charmides  joined  as  heartily  as  the  rest;  and 
then  Hodo  sought  him  and  took  him  by  the  arm,  draw 
ing  him  along  the  square  as  he  said : 

"We  will  sup  together,  Charmides — yonder." 

In  a  corner  against  the  wall  an  enterprising  mer 
chant  had  set  up  a  small  restaurant  of  clever  design, 
where  hot  wheaten  cakes,  roast  goat's  flesh,  and  cooked 
sesame,  together  with  various  fruits,  flasks  of  fermented 
liquor,  jars  of  beer,  or  flagons  of  goat's  milk  might  be 
bought  at  a  very  reasonable  price.  Charmides  rejoiced 
at  the  sight  of  food,  for  he  was  spent  with  the  heat 
and  the  journey.  And  he  offered  to  change  one  of 
his  silver  pieces  for  such  of  the  food  as  Hodo  and  he 
desired.  But  this  the  little  Babylonian  would  not 
have. 

"This  night  is  the  last,  my  Greek.  Eat  with  me. 
Many  a  use  there  will  be  for  that  silver  of  yours.  On 
your  first  night  within  Nimitti-Bel  you  shall  be  my 
guest." 

Then  Charmides  tried  to  thank  his  friend  once  more 
for  all  the  voluntary  and  unlooked-for  kindness  that 
had  been  shown  him  since  the  caravan  left  Tyre.  It 
was  with  difficulty,  indeed,  that  the  rhapsode  found 
words  fittingly  sincere  for  his  gratitude.  But,  long 


TO    THE    GATE    OF    GOD  95 

before  he  had  finished,  Hodo,  with  a  little,  deprecat 
ing  gesture,  stopped  him. 

"You  shall  not  thank  me,  Charmides,"  he  said, 
sadly.  "Rather  bless  those  gods  that  gave  you  a 
face  so  fair  and  a  personality  so  gracious  that  he  who 
comes  in  contact  with  you  cannot  but  love  you.  Truly, 
youth,  I  am  loath  to  part  with  you ;  and  I  hope  that  you 
will  not  rise  so  high  that  in  after- time  your  eyes  will 
be  above  the  level  of  mine." 

Charmides'  reply  to  this  was  simply  to  press  the 
other's  hand  to  his  brow.  Then,  the  two  having  fin 
ished  their  meal,  they  wrapped  up  their  cloaks  for 
cushions  and  sat  down,  with  their  backs  to  the  wall,  to 
watch  the  sights  in  the  square.  Charmides  held  his 
bundle  on  his  knees,  and  his  lyre  lay  beside  him  on  the 
ground.  He  was  bareheaded,  and,  as  he  sat  in  the 
shadow  of  the  wall,  his  face  was  indistinguishable  to 
the  passers-by.  Hodo  was  silent,  and  Charmides  felt 
no  inclination  to  talk.  His  eyes  wandered  over  the 
busy  square,  from  which  a  clatter  of  talk  was  rising. 
To  the  Greek,  looking  on,  it  seemed  as  if  a  hundred 
nationalities  were  before  him,  so  different  were  the  faces, 
dress,  and  manners  of  the  men  and  women  passing  on 
every  side.  Here  a  heavy-bearded,  coarse-clad  goat 
herd,  with  his  flock  around  him,  lay  already  asleep. 
There  a  company  of  market-girls,  bare-headed,  in  loose 
ly  fluttering  robes,  stood  gossiping  together  or  laughing 
at  the  little  date-merchant  opposite.  Before  the  gate 
were  half  a  dozen  soldiers  with  permits  for  entering 
the  city  after  hours,  quaffing  beer,  or  the  heavy  liquor 
of  the  date-cabbage,  from  their  helmets.  Farther  away 
a  donkey-boy  was  beating  a  refractory  member  of  his 
drove  into  submission ;  while,  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
square,  the  group  of  camels  belonging  to  Hodo's  cara 
van  lay  gazing  loftily  at  the  scene  before  them,  their 
self-satisfied  faces  showing  no  trace  of  the  fatigue 
that  three  long  weeks  upon  the  desert  sands  must 
surely  have  brought  them.  All  these,  and  infinitely 


96  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

more,  the  rhapsode  watched  with  increasing  interest. 
New  arrivals  were  frequent,  and  the  square  gradually 
became  massed  with  people. 

"  To-morrow  is  the  eleventh  of  the  month,"  observed 
Hodo,  suddenly,  from  his  reverie.  "There  will  be  the 
procession  of  Nebo  and  Nergal,  and,  later,  a  feast  in 
the  temple.  That  is  why  so  many  of  the  country-folk 
have  come." 

Charmides  nodded  assent.  He  was  watching  some 
one  of  whom  he  had  caught  sight  three  or  four  moments 
before — a  young  girl,  making  her  way  through  a  drove 
of  donkeys  and  sheep.  She  was  accompanied  by  a 
single  large,  white  goat,  that  followed  her  closely,  and 
to  which  she  paid  but  little  attention,  seeming  sure 
of  its  faithfulness.  Barefooted,  long-haired,  raggedly 
clad,  and  very  young — a  mere  child  of  fourteen  or  so — 
she  was.  Yet,  as  Charmides  wratched  her,  he  found 
something  in  the  quiet  droop  of  her  eyelids,  the  pathetic 
curve  of  her  mouth,  and  the  pallor  of  her  tired  face 
that  stayed  in  his  mind  through  the  whole  evening. 
She  lingered  for  a  moment  or  two  outside  the  great 
gate.  Then  one  of  the  soldiers,  catching  sight  of  her, 
left  his  companions  to  open  a  small  inner  door  that 
led  into  the  city.  Through  this  the  goat-girl  passed, 
and  Charmides  once  more  turned  to  his  companion, 
who  was  saying: 

"Where  do  you  go  to-morrow,  Charmides?" 

The  Greek  paused  to  consider.  Finally  he  answered, 
rather  doubtfully:  "I  do  not  know.  I  seek  Istar  of 
Babylon." 

Hodo  smiled,  pityingly.     "And  after  that — ?" 

Charmides  shook  his  head.  "I  do  not  know,"  he 
repeated. 

"Charmides,  you  will  do  well  to  come  with  me  and 
stay  with  me  for  some  days,  till  you  have  learned 
the  ways  of  Babylon.  Will  you,  then — " 

But  the  Greek  quickly  shook  his  head.  "Again  I 
thank  you,  Hodo.  You  are  good  to  me.  But  Apollo, 


TO    THE    GATE    OF    GOD  97 

my  Lord,  watches  over  me ;  and  the  god  of  the  golden 
lyre  has  made  me  well.  With  them  I  shall  enter  Baby 
lon.  With  them  I  go  before  Istar.  Say  no  more." 

Hodo  accepted  the  decision  without  further  protest. 
Indeed,  he  rather  believed  Charmides  to  be,  in  some 
respects,  a  little  more  than  human.  At  any  rate,  after 
a  few  moments  more  of  watching  the  still -moving 
throng,  he  wrapped  his  cloak  about  him  and  lay  down 
upon  the  stones.  Charmides  shortly  followed  his  ex 
ample.  And  then,  beneath  the  towering  walls  of  the 
Great  City,  Charmides,  in  his  dreams,  knocked  again 
upon  the  gate  of  God. 


3800ft  If 
THE    GREAT    CITY 


I 

THE    A-IBUR-SABO 

AS  the  first  yellow  streaks  of  the  false  dawn  paled 
in  the  east  on  this  morning  of  the  eleventh  of 
June,  the  city  of  Babylon  awoke.  And  by  the  time 
that  Shamash  had  come  forth  from  the  world  beyond 
the  Euphrates,  the  city  streets  were  alive  with  men, 
women,  and  animals.  An  hour  later  these  were  fixed 
in  two  long  phalanxes,  twenty  rows  deep,  on  either 
side  of  the  A  -  Ibur  -  Sabu  —  King  Nebuchadrezzar's 
sacred  way,  that  stretched,  from  the  gate  of  Bel  on 
the  south  side  of  the  city,  northward  as  far  as  the 
sanctuary  of  Istar.  Half-way  along  its  course  this 
street,  or  boulevard,  ran  through  the  great  square 
of  the  gods,  that  was  to-day  the  centre  of  interest; 
for  here,  upon  the  right  hand  and  upon  the  left,  were 
the  temples  of  Nebo  and  Nergal,  whose  feast-day  this 
was.  The  great  religious  procession  of  gods  and 
men  was  to  pass  from  the  second  monastery  of  Zicari 
southward  across  the  canal  of  the  Ukhatu  to  the 
temple  of  Istar,  where  they  would  enter  upon  the  A- 
Ibur-Sabu,  and  so  pass  directly  down  to  the  tem 
ples  where  the  sacrifice  was  to  be  conducted  by  the 
high  -  priests  of  the  temples  of  Bel,  of  Marduk,  of 
Nebo,  and  of  Nergal,  in  the  presence  of  the  Lady 
Istar,  the  gods  her  brothers,  the  king  of  Babylon,  and 
the  king's  son.  The  day  was  an  annual  holiday  in 
the  city,  whose  three  million  inhabitants  were  now, 
apparently,  every  one  of  them  struggling  to  obtain  the 


102  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

best  position  on  the  A-Ibur-Sabu,  just  at  the  entrance 
of  the  square  of  the  gods. 

The  noise  in  this  part  of  the  city  was  such  as  only 
a  vast,  good-natured  crowd  can  make.  They  pushed 
and  elbowed,  and  indulged  in  guttural  altercations 
that  commanded  too  speedy  mirth  from  by-standers 
ever  to  result  in  an  actual  quarrel.  Frequently  a 
commoner,  driving  his  bullock-cart  down  some  side 
street  towards  the  main  thoroughfare,  would  be  hauled 
from  his  place  to  see  his  vehicle  led  back  to  a  distant 
point.  Men  and  women  on  donkeys,  however,  were 
permitted  to  trot  on  unmolested ;  for  the  little,  mouse- 
colored  creatures  found  a  passage  where  their  riders 
would  have  been  wholly  at  fault.  Now  and  then  a 
drove  of  goats  passed  down  the  sacred  way  in  a  cloud 
of  dust,  their  owner  doing  a  thriving  business  in  the 
way  of  selling  milk  from  his  animals  to  the  thirsty 
throng.  Venders  of  eggs,  ready-cooked  grain,  fresh 
water,  fruits,  and  sweetmeats  added  their  long-drawn, 
half  -  incomprehensible  cries  to  the  general  clamor; 
while  at  frequent  intervals  a  squad  of  cavalryAor  the 
chariot  of  a  nobleman  clattered  along  the  A-Ibur, 
causing  the  people  to  scurry  from  beneath  their  hoofs, 
but  never  making  the  slightest  move  to  draw  up  for 
unfortunates. 

The  sun  rose  higher,  and  the  heat  grew  stifling. 
Water-sellers  emptied  their  skins  so  rapidly  that  the 
liquid  had  no  time  to  cool  by  evaporation  before  it  was 
taken,  in  its  tepid,  nauseous  state.  The  morning  was 
well  advanced.  Children  began  to  cry  with  fatigue, 
and  men  and  women  alike  became  impatient  for  the 
procession.  But  by  the  time  Charmides  reached  the 
temple  of  Nebo  there  was  still  no  sign  of  its  approach. 

The  Greek  had  slept  late,  under  the  shadow  of  the 
great  wall;  and  when  he  awoke  the  sun  was  well  up, 
Hodo  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and  the  rebit  was  empty 
of  those  that  had  passed  the  night  there.  Charmides 
arose  writh  a  very  hasty  prajrer  to  Apollo,  performed 


THE   A-IBUR-SABfl  103 

some  ablutions  at  the  public  well,  and  then,  his  heart 
beating  high  with  long-delayed  curiosity,  passed  the 
gate  and  went  into  the  Great  City. 

He  entered  directly  upon  the  A-Ibur-Sabu ;  and  the 
distance  from  the  gate  to  the  square  of  the  gods  was 
not  great.  Plenty  of  people  were  moving  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  temples,  and  presently  the  rhapsode,  a 
little  bewildered  with  their  number,  wholly  interested 
in  their  appearance,  halted  on  the  right  hand  of  the 
street,  beside  a  building,  to  watch  those  around  him 
for  a  little  while.  He  remained  at  his  vantage-point 
for  some  time,  regarding  with  interested  eyes  all  that 
passed.  Finally,  however,  the  sight  of  a  young  girl, 
tall,  lithe,  straight,  with  brilliant  eyes  and  dark  skin, 
brought  him  back  with  a  start  to  his  great  object,  the 
quest  of  Istar.  In  passing,  the  girl  flashed  an  im 
pudent  little  smile  at  him,  and  on  impulse  he  ran 
forward,  to  ask  her  in  his  own  way  how  to  reach 
the  temple  of  the  goddess.  Whether  by  instinct,  in 
tuition,  or  divine  Providence,  the  girl  understood  what 
he  said;  but  her  quick  answer  was  unintelligible  to 
him,  and  he  had  only  her  gesture  to  go  by.  That, 
however,  commanded  him  to  keep  to  the  north,  and 
he  started  eagerly  forward  in  that  direction. 

Fifteen  minutes'  rapid  walking  brought  him  to  the 
edge  of  the  dense  crowd  that  bordered  the  square  of 
the  gods.  Here  the  people  bewildered  him.  He  felt 
the  heat  intensely,  and,  incidentally,  had  become  both 
thirsty  and  hungry.  There  was  food  and  drink 
enough  on  all  sides  of  him  for  sale;  but  the  youth 
felt  disinclined  to  offer  a  piece  of  his  Sicilian  money  in 
exchange  for  a  breakfast ;  not  on  account  of  any  pe 
nurious  notions,  but  because,  utterly  ignorant  as  he 
was  of  Babylonish  coinage,  he  dreaded  Babylonish  cu- 
riositj7  or  the  ridicule  that  might  be  expressed  on  pres 
entation  of  such  foreign  coins  as  he  had.  Therefore  he 
wavered  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  crowd,  chafing  with 
impatience,  extremely  uncomfortable,  and  still  afraid 


104  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

to  make  known  his  needs.  The  throng  was  dense,  and 
the  Greek  by  no  means  tall  enough  to  see  over  the 
many  heads  in  front  of  him.  Therefore  whatever 
might  be  going  on  in  the  square  beyond  was  quite 
hidden  from  his  view.  Presently  he  trod,  by  mistake, 
upon  the  fringed  tunic  of  a  man  beside  him.  Turn 
ing  to  offer  an  apology,  his  eyes  suddenly  fell  upon  a 
face  that,  seemed  familiar — so  familiar  that  he  made 
an  effort  to  remember  wrhere  he  had  seen  it  before. 

After  all,  it  proved  to  be  only  the  little  goat  -  girl 
who  had  been  in  the  rebit  on  the  previous  evening. 
This  time,  however,  the  child  saw  him ;  and  she  seem 
ed  to  find  something  in  his  face  that  kept  her  eyes 
riveted  on  his  for  a  long  moment,  and  then  sent  them 
drooping,  till  he  could  see  the  pretty,  olive  lids  and 
the  long,  black  lashes ;  while  at  the  same  time  a  wave 
of  crimson  swept  up  and  over  her  face.  Then  Char- 
mides  discovered  that,  after  all,  he  knew  something 
of  women.  He  felt  at  once  that  from  this  girl  there 
\vould  be  no  ridicule  for  him.  The  goat  was  still 
with  her ;  and,  as  he  went  quickly  to  her  side,  he  per 
ceived,  round  the  creature's  neck,  a  metal  cup  on  a 
string,  the  purpose  of  which  vessel  he  was  not  slow 
to  guess. 

The  girl  waited  for  Charmides,  and  pushed  her 
goat  away  for  him  with  evident  pleasure.  As  he 
halted,  her  big  eyes  were  upraised,  and  her  look 
travelled  ingenuously  from  his  sunlit  hair  over  his 
burned  face  down  to  his  roughly  sandalled  feet. 
Then  she  watched  him  open  the  little  money-bag 
that  he  had  drawn  from  his  bundle.  From  it  he  ex 
tracted  a  silver  piece,  stamped  with  the  parsley  sprig 
of  Selinous,  and,  holding  it  out  to  her,  he  pointed  from 
the  cup  on  the  goat  to  his  own  lips  and  then  back  to 
the  animal  again.  The  business  wras  done.  Baba, 
disregarding  the  proffered  money,  knelt  down  beside 
the  docile  animal  and  obtained  Charmides'  belated 
breakfast  with  a  practised  hand. 


THE    A-IBUR-SABU  105 

Charmides  drank  the  warm  milk  with  relish,  and, 
the  cup  emptied,  placed  his  coin  inside  it  and  re 
turned  it  to  the  girl.  She  took  it  with  a  shy  smile, 
that  suddenly  vanished  when  she  perceived  the  sil 
ver.  Picking  up  the  coin,  she  examined  it  for  some 
seconds.  Then,  while  Charmides  looked  on  uneasily, 
Baba  opened  a  pouch  at  her  side,  extracted  there 
from  a  handful  of  small,  copper  disks,  and  held  them 
out  to  the  Greek,  saying  something  to  him  at  the 
same  time.  He  shook  his  head  and  smiled  at  her  as 
he  accepted  them.  They  were  all  alike:  little  scraps 
of  stamped  copper,  which  he  afterwards  learned  to  be 
se,  the  smallest  of  the  Babylonish  coins. 

The  chief  matter  of  the  moment  thus  satisfactorily 
concluded,  the  Greek  lingered  still  at  Baba's  side, 
debating  on  the  advisability  of  questioning  her  fur 
ther.  She  seemed  not  disinclined  to  conversation, 
and  as  he  glanced  at  her  furtively  he  found  her  eyes 
again  fixed  upon  his  face.  He  answered  the  look, 
and  then,  with  the  usual  effort,  said,  in  the  thick 
way  of  the  Babylonians,  the  one  word : 

"Ishtar." 

Baba  appeared  to  understand  him  at  once.  "Belit 
will  come  to  the  square  of  the  gods  and  the  tem 
ples  there  in  the  sacred  procession,"  she  said,A  point 
ing  at  the  same  time  to  the  north  along  the  A-Ibur- 
Sabii. 

Charmides  understood  the  gesture,  not  the  words; 
and,  thanking  her  in  his  own  language,  he  left  her,  not 
without  a  vague  hope  that  he  might  find  her  again 
some  time.  As  he  strode  away  he  did  not  know  how 
longingly  Baba's  eyes  followed  him;  how  for  a  few 
steps  she  crept  after  him,  this  new  god  with  the  hair 
of  gold,  and  how  at  length,  abashed  by  the  thought 
of  her  own  boldness,  she  sat  down  beside  her  goat  and 
addressed  a  fervent  prayer  to  Lady  Istar  to  send  peace 
to  her  thoughts. 

Meantime  the  object  of  this  homage  was  hurrying 


io6  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

down  a  narrow  street  that  ran  westward ;  and,  having 
a  good  notion  of  localities  and  distance,  he  succeeded 
in  skirting  the  crowd  on  the  square  without  much 
difficulty,  and  in  reaching  the  A-Ibur-Sabu  again  a 
little  farther  to  the  north.  Here,  indeed,  the  throng 
seemed  denser  than  ever ;  and  here,  as  Charmides  now 
guessed,  Istar  herself  would  come  in  procession  with  the 
gods  and  priests  this  very  morning — nay,  within  the 
hour.  With  the  thought  his  heart  beat  furiously,  his 
throat  grew  dry,  and  his  eyes  were  dim.  His  head  swam 
with  emotion  as  he  started  to  edge  a  way  through  the 
mass  of  people.  Not  a  little  to  his  surprise,  he  found 
this  easy  to  do.  The  people  voluntarily  gave  place 
to  him-,  staring  in  wronder  at  his  beauty,  his  bright 
hair,  and  the  shining  lyre  that  he  carried  in  his 
hand.  Ignorant  as  he  was  of  the  gigantic  system  of 
superstition  that  formed  the  foundation  of  the  Chaldaic 
religious  life,  he  still  concluded,  vaguely,  that  they 
were  regarding  him  as  something  more  than  human, 
all  these  people  that  inclined  a  little  as  he  usurped 
their  room.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  been  identified 
by  some  as  one  of  the  Annunaki,  or  earth-spirits ;  by 
others  as  one  of  the  band  of  Igigi,  or  heavenly  beings, 
come  among  them  to-day  to  do  honor  to  his  lords  and 
theirs,  the  great  gods  of  civil  administration  and  of 
learning,  Father  Nebo  and  his  son  Nergal. 

Here  was  Charmides  at  last  at  his  journey's  end, 
standing  in  the  heart  of  the  Great  City,  upon  the 
A-Ibur-Sabu,  the  ziggurat  of  Nebo  on  his  right  hand, 
the  house  of  the  high-priest  of  Bel  opposite,  the  broad 
Euphrates  winding  through  the  sunshine  far  in  front, 
and,  somewhere  to  the  north,  moving  towards  him 
from  her  holy  temple,  Istar,  the  living  goddess  of  the 
city  of  kings.  It  all  seemed  a  dream  to  him  now.  The 
miles  that  lay  between  him  and  his  home  had  put  him 
into  another  life,  still  unreal,  but  always  more  and  more 
tangible  as  he  looked  around  and  moved  and  breathed. 
The  great  mutitude  hardly  caught  his  attention.  He 


THE   A-IBUR-SABC  107 

wished  himself  free  to  think  under  the  spell  of  the  new 
world.  But  now,  far  up  the  street,  could  be  seen  a  whirl 
ing  cloud  of  dust,  in  which  low-moving  forms  were  all 
but  hidden.  These  presently  resolved  into  three  droves 
of  animals  —  goats,  bullocks,  and  sheep  for  the  sacri 
fice,  driven  by  eunuchs  of  the  temple.  The  horns  of 
the  bullocks  were  gilded,  and  the  necks  of  the  smaller 
beasts  were  twined  with  wreaths  of  flowers — just  as  the 
hecatombs  of  Zeus  were  ornamented  at  home.  Char- 
mides  watched  the  flocks  pass  with  joy  at  his  heart. 
The  familiar  sight  made  Babylon  homelike  to  him.  His 
fingers  sought  the  strings  of  his  lyre,  and  he  hummed 
to  himself  a  genial  little  tune,  that  ceased  when  there 
rose  about  him  a  murmur  of  exclamations,  followed  by  a 
quick  silence.  Charmides  turned  his  eyes  to  the  north. 
There  again  wras  dust ;  this  time  gleaming  with  brass- 
work  and  glinting  with  trappings  of  horses.  Into  the 
silence  came  a  distant  sound  of  cymbals  and  wooden 
flutes.  The  great  procession  was  moving — was  com 
ing.  She  was  coming — Istar — the  Lady  of  Babylon 
— the  Divine  One. 

The  crowd  on  either  side  of  the  street  voluntarily 
pressed  back  to  allow  a  wider  space  for  the  passage 
of  the  gods.  No  one  was  speaking  now,  and  Char 
mides  himself  was  breathless  with  expectation.  The 
wavering  dust-cloud  advanced  towards  the  square,  and 
the  blare  of  trumpets  grew  louder,  yet  the  procession 
seemed  barely  to  move.  Distant  shouts  of  praise  and 
acclamation  could  be  heard,  and  there  was  a  short, 
silent  struggle  for  place.  That  was  all.  Everything 
waited. 

Presently  a  phalanx  of  men,  marching  in  excellent 
order  and  at  a  rapid  pace,  resolved  from  the  dust  and 
passed  the  house  of  the  high-priest.  These  wore  the 
regulation  priest's  tunic  of  white  muslin ;  but  they  had 
no  goat-skins  on  the  shoulder,  and  the  knives  in  their 
girdles  proclaimed  them  slayers  of  the  sacrifice.  They 
were,  in  fact,  Zicaru,  or  under-priests,  from  the  mon- 


io8  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

astery  below  the  temple  of  Nebo.  Behind  them  came 
a  chariot,  in  which  stood  one  man,  a  tall,  muscular 
fellow,  dark  and  bearded,  with  the  goat-skin  over  his 
left  arm,  a  golden  girdle  about  his  waist,  and  a  resetted 
tiara  on  his  head — Vul-Raman  of  the  great  Bit-Yakin,* 
high -priest  of  Nebo,  and,  next  to  Amraphel  of  Bel, 
the  most  powerful  official  of  the  priesthood.  Behind 
him,  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  six  Enu,  or  elders,  and 
surrounded  by  a  group  of  sixteen  anointers  (Pasisu), 
and  officials  of  the  libation  (Ramku),  was  the  great 
bronze  statue  of  Bel-Marduk,  the  father-god  of  the 
city,  before  whose  passage  the  people  bent  their  heads 
and  prayed.  After  this  idol  came  his  priest  Amraphel, 
ruler  of  the  Babylonish  orders,  in  his  dazzling  chariot, 
wearing  a  leopard-skin  over  his  cloudy  tunic.  Char- 
mides  looked  into  the  face  of  this  man,  and  in  the  one 
glance  experienced  a  curious  sensation  —  a  sense  of 
evil  that  he  never  quite  forgot. 

Now  there  came  an  apparently  endless  string  of  tem 
ple-servants,  priests  in  chariots,  and  little  gods  carried 
by  their  worshippers.  Also  there  were  groups  of  proph 
ets  (Asipu),  dream  -  interpreters  (Makhatu),  and  the 
great  seer  Nabu-bani-akhi.  Charmides  watched  them 
all  go  by  without  great  interest,  for  his  expectation  was 
becoming  keener.  Each  moment  he  thought  to  per 
ceive,  in  the  distance,  her;  and  by  the  heart-throb  that 
followed  the  thought  he  knew  that  he  should  recog 
nize  her  presence  from  afar.  As  time  passed,  how 
ever,  he  began  to  grow  fearful  lest,  after  all,  she  was 
not;  lest  Kabir,  first,  and  afterwards  Hodo  and  the 
rest,  had  spoken  falsely,  had  deceived  him,  had  brought 
him  to  this  great,  lonely  place,  out  of  his  world,  with 
no  hope  of  return,  and  no  prospect  in  life.  The 
thought  brought  a  spasm  of  fear  to  his  heart.  Yet — 
yet — there,  up  the  line,  was  a  great  burst  of  music 
from  a  band  of  musicians  that  surrounded  a  new, 
/ 

*  "Bit" — tribe,  or  family.     A  general  prefix  to  the  surname. 


THE    A-IBUR-SABU  109 

dazzling  chariot,  in  which  stood  a  solitary  figure,  clad 
— Charmides  turned  faint  and  shut  his  eyes.  Then, 
hearing  shouts  of  acclamation,  he  opened  them  again, 
fearfully,  and  looked  up  to  behold — a  man. 

The  first  feeling  was  wholly  of  bewilderment.  Then, 
as  the  rhapsode's  eyes  saw  more,  they  forgot  to  fall. 
If  Istar  of  Babylon  was  a  man,  at  least  he  was  one  to 
look  upon  with  wonder.  Never  before  had  Charmides 
beheld  so  imperial  a  face.  Never  had  he  imagined 
such  features.  The  skin,  as  compared  with  his  own, 
was  very  dark;  yet  it  was  whiter  than  that  of  any 
other  Chaldee.  Black  hair,  cut  almost  short,  clustered 
about  the  head.  The  face  was  smooth-shaven,  after 
the  custom  of  the  royal  house ;  and,  though  Charmides 
could  not  see  it  from  where  he  stood,  the  eyes  were 
blue — the  deep,  purplish  blue  of  a  storm-cloud.  The 
man  wore  the  dress  of  the  priesthood,  yet  it  went  incon 
gruously  .with  his  bearing.  Power  and  the  habit  of 
command  stood  out  in  every  line  of  his  figure,  in  the 
Zeus-like  poise  of  the  head,  in  the  hand  that  controlled 
the  two  powerful  black  horses  which  drew  the  chariot 
along.  If  this  were  Istar— well,  Charmides  could  hardly 
regret.  So  much  he  muttered  aloud,  in  Phoenician. 
To  his  amazement,  the  words  were  answered  from  be 
hind  him: 

"That  is  no  Istar,  fool!  That  is  Belshazzar,  the 
prince  royal,  the  tyrant  of  Babylon." 

"And  Istar — the  goddess!"  cried  the  Greek,  turning 
to  the  man  that  spoke. 

"The  creature  Istar?  She  comes,"  was  the  frown 
ing  reply  made  by  the  hook-nosed,  ill-kempt  man  at 
his  shoulder. 

Charmides  said  no  more.  His  pulses  were  throb 
bing  violently.  At  a  little  distance  he  perceived  a  new 
vehicle,  a  triumphal-car,  at  the  approach  of  which  the 
great  masses  of  people  to  the  right  and  left  sank,  as  a 
man,  to  their  knees,  bowing  to  the  dust.  Charmides 
raised  his  eyes  and  beheld  her  sitting  upon  the  broad 


no  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

platform  of  the  car.  And  as  he  looked,  as  he  knelt, 
even  as  his  brow  touched  the  ground,  Charmides  knew 
that  he  had  not  been  deceived,  that  rumor  had  spoken 
truth,  because  more  than  truth  could  not  here  be 
spoken.  Yet  when  she  had  passed,  the  Greek  did  not 
know  her.  He  had  not  seen  so  much  as  a  line  of  her 
figure.  She  swam  in  a  glory  of  light  that  radiated 
from  herself.  Her  head  had  been  crowned,  yet  with 
what  he  did  not  know.  His  heart  and  head  were 
afire,  and  he  heeded  nothing  more  of  the  procession. 
Most  of  all,  he  did  not  hear  the  words  of  the  man  be 
hind  him,  who  had  knelt  with  the  rest  at  the  ap 
proach  of  the  car,  because  fear  of  death  is  a  great 
leveller  ;  but  had  the  words  that  he  muttered  been 
heard  and  understood  by  the  populace,  it  is  doubtful 
whether  all  his  influence  had  saved  his  life  from 
them. 

"  Asha  confound  this  instrument  of  evil !  Yahveh's 
wrath  light  upon  her  soul!  God  of  Judea  visit  her 
with  the  fires  of  Sheol!"  And  then  the  former  servant 
of  Nebuchadrezzar  the  Great  rose  and  turned  away 
through  the  crowd.  Charmides  later  sought  vainly 
for  his  Phoenician-tongued  informant,  whom  men  to 
day  call  Daniel  the  prophet. 

While  the  Greek  still  stood,  dazed  and  stupid,  his 
head  swimming  with  the  delight  of  knowing  her  actu 
ally  to  be,  the  procession  passed,  and  a  great  multitude 
of  people  swept  along  at  its  heels  towards  the  temple 
square.  Any  attempt  to  force  a  passage  through  that 
packed  throng  would  have  been  useless.  This  Char 
mides  perceived  at  once,  and  presently,  as  the  crowd 
melted  away  from  where  he  stood,  he  turned  and 
began  to  walk  slowly  towards  the  north,  along  the 
A-Ibur-Sabu.  In  the  street  there  were  not  a  few 
people  who,  like  himself,  had  felt  it  useless  to  try  for 
a  place  to  see  the  sacrifice,  and,  the  procession  over, 
were  on  the  way  home,  perhaps  to  some  family  festi 
val.  But  Charmides  saw  little  enough  of  those  around 


THE    A-IBUR-SABU  in 

him.     His  feet  moved  mechanically  while  his  thoughts 
soared. 

He  had  seen  her — he  had  seen  Istar.  The  object  of 
his  journey  was  over ;  and  yet — to  leave  Babylon  now, 
without  knowing  more  of  her,  was  impossible.  He 
felt  that  while  Babylon  was  the  shrine  of  such  a  be 
ing,  in  Babylon  he  must  worship.  Sicily,  his  friends, 
his  mother,  were  now  become  things  of  another  life — 
things  fair  and  dear  to  think  upon,  but  for  which  he 
no  longer  yearned.  Istar,  far  above  his  reach  as  she 
was,  yet  made  his  interest,  his  religion — in  fine,  his 
home — in  this  new  land. 

It  was  while  such  thoughts  as  these  were  mingling 
in  his  heart  that  the  Greek  found  himself  brought  to  a 
halt.  He  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  famous  street 
that  terminated  in  a  square  nearly  two  miles  north  of 
the  temples  of  Nebo  and  his  son  and  the  square  of  the 
gods.  On  the  edge  of  the  new  square  Charmides  paused 
and  looked  around  him.  Beside  him,  to  the  right 
and  to  the  left,  were  two  large  buildings  of  the  usual 
brick,  low-roofed,  and  surrounded  by  walls  in  which 
the  great  wrought  bronze  gates  were  shut.  Through 
their  bars  he  caught  glimpses  of  fair  gardens  filled  with 
flowers  of  brilliant  hues  and  shaded  by  flowering  bushes 
and  tall  date-palms.  But  in  these  places  there  was  no 
sign  of  life;  nor  was  any  living  creature  to  be  seen  on 
the  flat  roofs  that  served,  in  Babylon,  the  purpose  of 
summer  living-rooms.  On  the  right-hand  side  of  the 
square  stood  what  was  unmistakably  a  temple.  Here, 
on  the  top  of  the  broad  platform,  and  again  on  the 
steps  ascending  it,  and  about  the  open  doors  of  the  holy 
house,  several  people  moved,  while  others  were  dotted 
on  the  broad  incline  that  ran  around  the  outside  of  the 
ziggurat,  or  towrer,  without  which  no  holy  building 
was  complete,  and  which  stood,  campanile-like,  to  the 
left  of  the  temple  itself. 

Glad  of  company,  even  that  of  total  strangers,  and 
seeing  that  the  platform  stair  offered  opportunity  foi 


112  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

a  much-needed  rest,  Charmides  moved  wearily  across 
the  square,  mounted  a  step  or  two,  and  sat  down 
with  a  long  sigh  of  relief.  Near  him  were  three  or 
four  people — venders  of  various  commodities  suited  to 
the  place.  An  old  man  held  between  his  knees  a 
basket  of  small,  clay  bricks,  inscribed  with  Accadian 
prayers.  Close  to  him  was  a  scribe  of  a  semi -re 
ligious  order,  ready  provided  with  cuneiform  iron  and 
a  supply  of  kneaded  clay.  A  little  beyond,  a  street 
water-carrier  had  stopped  to  rest,  with  his  heavy  pig 
skin  beside  him.  Nearest  of  all  was  a  young  girl,  hold 
ing  on  her  lap  a  basket  of  nosegays.  The  picture  in 
itself  was  pleasing;  but  Charmides  soon  discovered 
about  it  something  that  interested  him  much  more. 
This  was  the  sight  of  half  a  wheaten  loaf  and  a  hand 
ful  of  dates  that  lay,  nearly  covered  with  a  bit  of  cloth, 
in  a  corner  of  the  flower-basket. 

The  nourishment  in  Charmides'  early  breakfast  of 
goat's  milk  had  not  served  to  keep  up  his  strength 
vso  long  as  this,  and  now  the  sight  of  solid  food  made 
him  faint  for  it.  He  hesitated  a  little  what  to  do;  for 
he  could  not  be  sure  whether  what  he  saw  were  the 
girl's  noonday  meal  or  the  remains  of  it.  Having 
gazed  long  and  eagerly,  however,  at  the  loaf,  he  sud 
denly  lifted  his  eyes  to  encounter  her  own — very  pretty 
ones  they  were — fixed  on  him  with  a  mixture  of  curi 
osity  and  admiration.  Thereupon  courage  born  of 
hunger  came  upon  the  rhapsode  with  a  mighty  rush. 
He  rose  and  went  over  to  the  side  of  the  flower-girl, 
and,  taking  from  his  bag  the  coppers  given  him  by 
Baba,  he  proffered  them  all  to  the  flower-seller.  Smil 
ing  till  she  showed  a  very  pretty  set  of  small,  white 
teeth,  she  picked  up  all  her  remaining  bouquets  and 
held  them  up  to  him  in  both  hands.  Charmides  looked 
at  them  lovingly,  but  shook  his  head.  With  surprise 
written  in  her  face,  the  girl  put  them  down  again  and 
seemed  to  wait  for  him  to  speak.  Thereupon  Char 
mides  seated  himself  carefully  on  the  other  side  of  the 


THE    A-IBUR-SABO  H3 

basket,  put  one  finger  on  the  wheaten  loaf,  pointed  to 
his  mouth,  and  looked  inquiringly  at  his  new  friend. 
She  understood  instantly,  and,  laughing,  took  up  the 
food  and  set  it  before  the  Greek. 

While  he  ate  they  talked — in  the  universal  language 
of  primitive  sounds  and  gestures.  And  so  skilful  at 
this  occupation  did  the  two  of  them  find  themselves, 
that  Charmides  shortly  learned  how  the  girl  had  par 
taken  of  her  noon  meal  some  time  before,  and  that 
he  was  quite  welcome  to  what  was  \eit  of  it.  Here 
upon  the  rhapsode  spread  out  all  his  se,  nine  of  them, 
in  a  neat  row,  and  suggested  that  she^ake  as  many 
as  the  bread  and  fruit  were  worth.  The  maiden  hesi 
tated  over  this  part  of  the  affair,  but,  as  Charmides 
was  quite  firm,  she  finally  picked  out  three  of  the  cop 
pers  and  put  them  in  a  little  pouch  hanging  from 
her  girdle;  and  Charmides  perceived,  without  much 
thinking  about  it,  that  this  pouch  was  the  counter 
part  of  that  from  which  Baba  had  that  morning  ex 
tracted  his  change. 

During  his  meal,  which  Charmides  caused  to  last 
for  some  time,  his  eyes  were  much  employed.  He 
was  making  a  careful  scrutiny  of  his  new  companion 
— one  so  very  careful  that,  in  the  interest  of  it,  the  awe 
and  fiery  enthusiasm  excited  in  him  by  the  sight  of 
Istar  was  gradually  dispelled.  Thus  he  came  grace 
fully  down  to  human  interests,  and  discovered  that 
this  Babylonian  maid  was  rather  more  to  his  taste 
than  any  Doric  Sicilian  he  could  remember. 

In  very  truth,  Ramua  of  Beltani's  house,  the  flower- 
girl  of  the  temple  of  the  great  goddess,  was  a  goodly 
sight  for  tired  eyes.  Young  and  fresh  of  color,  sweet 
of  voice,  and  modest  of  demeanor  she  always  was.  To 
be  sure,  her  long  tunic  was  colorless,  old,  and  much 
patched.  Her  pretty  feet  were  bare,  and  her  only 
head-covering  the  long,  silken  hair  that  was  plaited 
and  coiled  round  and  round  her  shapely  head.  But  it 
had  been  a  pity  to  hide  those  glossy  locks  under  the 


H4  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

rarest  of  coronets.  No  jewels  that  srie  could  have 
worn  would  have  rivalled  her  eyes  in  brilliancy ;  and  as 
for  the  small,  brown  feet — Charmides  survej^ed  them 
covertly  with  unique  enjoyment,  and  could  not  re 
member  to  have  seen  a  sandal  fit  to  grace  them. 

Musing  in  this  profitable  fashion,  the  rhapsode  fin 
ished  his  meal,  and  invested  another  se  in  the  purchase 
of  a  cup  of  water  from  the  water-seller.  This  he  prof 
fered  first  to  the  girl,  who  refused  it  with  exceeding 
grace,  and  a  vpry  definite  hope  in  her  eyes  that  the 
sunny  Greek  would  not  yet  depart.  Evidently  he  had 
ideas  of  so  doing,  for,  returning  to  her  side,  but  not 
sitting  down,  he  once  more  pronounced  his  pass-word : 

"later?" 

"  This  is  her  temple,"  was  the  quick  reply,  as  Ramua 
pointed  to  the  top  of  the  platform. 

Charmides  caught  hopefully  at  the  gesture.  "This 
is  the  temple  of  Istar?  The  goddess  will  return  here?" 
he  asked,  uselessly,  in  Greek. 

Ramua  smiled  at  him. 

Charmides  felt  irritated  and  helpless.  He  looked 
from  the  girl  to  the  temple,  and  back  again.  Then  he 
paused,  wavered,  might  perhaps  have  cursed  in  his 
own  tongue,  and  finally  sat  down  again  where  he  had 
been  before.  Silence  ensued.  Ramua  played  in  a  very 
unbusiness-like  way  with  a  flower,  till  she  had  spoiled 
it.  Charmides,  more  stolid  and  less  concerned,  stared 
out  upon  the  sunny  square  and  down  the  far  stretch 
of  the  A-Ibur-Sabft,  from  which  far-distant  sounds 
of  music  came  faintly  to  his  ears.  Gradually  he  fell 
into  a  noonday  reverie,  from  which  he  was  roused  by 
Ramua,  who,  hoping  perhaps  to  attract  his  attention, 
had  lifted  his  lyre  and  was  running  her  hand  over  its 
strings.  Charmides  looked  up  at  her  in  surprise,  and 
at  once  she  held  the  instrument  out  to  him,  motioning 
him  to  play.  Nothing  loath,  he  took  it,  stood  up,  and 
turned  to  her.  For  a  moment  his  hand  wandered 
among  the  strings.  Then  he  found  the  melody  he 


THE    A-IBUR-SABU  115 

sought,  and  sang  it  to  her  in  full-throated,  mellifluous 
Greek — the  myth  of  the  Syracusan  nymph,  Arethuse, 
and  Alpheus,  the  river-god. 

The  flower-girl  listened  spellbound  to  such  sounds 
as  she  had  never  heard  before;  and,  on  stopping, 
Charmides  found  a  group  of  pedestrians,  attracted  by 
his  song,  standing  near  at  hand  behind  him.  One 
of  them,  a  stiff-robed,  high-crowned  nobleman,  tossed 
him  a  piece  of  money  at  the  conclusion  of  the  poem. 
Charmides  took  it  up  with  a  momentary  impulse  to 
throw  it  back  at  the  man.  Prudence,  however,  came 
to  his  aid,  and,  after  a  moment  of  inward  rebellion, 
he  accepted  the  coin,  realizing  that  chance  had  just 
shown  him  a  way  for  a  future  livelihood.  He  might, 
perhaps,  have  sung  again,  but  for  an  interruption  that 
claimed  the  attention  of  every  one  around  the  temple. 

The  noise  of  distant  trumpets  had  become  much 
louder,  and  two  specks  afar  down  the  A-Ibur-Sabu  had 
by  now  resolved  themselves  into  a  two-horse  chariot 
and  the  car  of  Istar — both  of  them  coming  towards 
the  temple. 

Charmides'  heart  bounded  as  he  distinguished  the 
radiant  figure  that  sat  upon  the  golden  platform  of  the 
divine  vehicle.  So  he  was  to  see  her  again — now — so 
soon.  This  time,  if  she  passed  him  closely,  she  might 
even  see  him.  And  if  her  eyes  should  fall  upon  him — 
had  she  eyes?  Had  she  features  and  organs?  Was 
she,  in  fact,  anything  but  a  mystic  vision  that  people 
saw  dizzily  and  turned  from,  half  blinded?  He  glanced 
down  at  the  flower-girl  by  his  side,  and  it  came  over 
him  with  a  rush  of  pleasure  that  she  was  human  and 
susceptible  to  human  emotions. 

Istar's  car  approached  the  platform  steps.  It  was 
followed  by  the  attendant  chariot,  in  which  Charmides 
once  more  beheld  Belshazzar,  the  "tyrant  of  Baby 
lon,"  whom  at  first  sight  he  had  reckoned  as  a  demi 
god.  As  the  car  stopped,  the  prince  leaped  from  his 
place  and  went  to  stand  near  the  goddess  as  she 


n6  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

alighted.  The  little  company  of  people  that  had  as 
sembled  to  watch  Istar's  arrival,  bent  the  knee.  Char- 
mides  alone  remained  upright — why,  he  could  not  have 
told.  Certainly  it  was  not  from  lack  of  reverence. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  form  of  Istar,  while  with 
all  the  strength  of  his  mind  he  strove  to  pierce  the  veil 
of  impenetrable,  dazzling  light  that  hung  about  her 
like  a  garment.  As  she  rose  from  her  sitting  posture, 
Charmides  looked  to  see  her  slaves  offer  assistance  in 
her  descent  from  the  high  place.  But  the  eunuchs 
at  her  horses'  heads  did  not  move,  and  Belshazzar 
stood  motionless  on  the  first  step,  his  head  slightly 
bowed,  but  his  strange  eyes  fixed  as  eagerly  as  Char 
mides'  own. 

Presently  the  goddess  was  beside  the  prince.  How 
she  had  descended,  Charmides  did  not  know.  He 
seemed  to  have  seen  her  float  down  a  shaft  of  light 
to  the  ground. 

After  performing  the  proper  obeisance  to  their  lady, 
the  people  rose,  as  Istar,  with  Belshazzar  at  her  elbow, 
began  to  ascend  the  platform  steps.  Charmides  could 
see  that  her  feet  moved,  yet  they  barely  touched  the 
bricks.  He  did  not  know,  however,  that  a  year  ago 
she  had  had  no  need  for  steps.  As  jret,  it  had  never 
even  been  whispered  by  any  man  that  she  was  more 
than  formerly  of  earth. 

One,  two,  three  stairs  Istar  mounted.  The  young 
Greek  was  choking  with  excitement.  In  another  mo 
ment  she  would  be  abreast  of  him — nay,  was  abreast 
of  him,  had  ceased  to  move,  had  turned  her  head.  Bel 
shazzar,  on  the  other  side,  halted  in  astonishment. 
Charmides'  heart  stopped.  He  found  himself  looking 
into  a  pair  of  great,  unfathomable  eyes  that  gazed 
into  his  own  with  the  light  of  all  knowledge.  At 
the  look,  courage,  confidence,  and  an  unspeakable 
joy  took  possession  of  him.  Without  amazement  he 
heard  her  speak  to  him  in  his  own  tongue. 

"Welcome,    thou   Charmides,    to    Babylon!     I   had 


THE    A-IBUR-SABU  117 

word  of  your  coming  when  Allaraine  banished  thy 
desert  fever,  in  order  that  the  Great  City,  and  I  in  it, 
should  know  thy  voice." 

"Istar!" 

"  The  journey  has  been  long,  and  has  taken  patience 
and  fortitude." 

"The  way  has  been  but  a  dream  of  my  goddess. 
Long  ago,  through  Lord  Apollo,  I  beheld  thee."' 

"Yes — in  the  temple  of  Selinous — that  dedicated  to 
Apollo,  who  is  Allaraine  to  me.  Charmides,  you  have 
no  home  in  Babylon.  Will  you  take  up  an  abode  in 
that  of  the  flower-girl  beside  you?" 

Charmides  made  no  answer  in  words.  Turning  a 
little  towards  the  young  girl,  who  stood,  pale  and  wide- 
eyed,  on  his  right  hand,  he  smiled  at  her. 

Then  Istar  also  turned  to  Ramua,  and  spoke  in 
Chaldaic :  "  Thou,  maiden,  take  you  at  everling-time 
this  stranger  home  to  the  house  of  your  mother,  Bel- 
tani,  and  keep  him  there  as  he  were  one  of  you ;  and 
in  return  he  will  bring  you  great  happiness.  This 
is  my  wish." 

Ramua  fell  again  upon  her  knees  and  bowed  her 
head  upon  the  clay  bricks.  She  was  incapable  of 
speech;  but  the  flush  of  crimson  that  had  overspread 
her  face  told  Istar  that  the  command  would  not  be  un 
willingly  obeyed.  Then  the  goddess  turned  again  to 
the  Greek. 

"  Charmides,  go  thou  home  to-night  with  the  maiden 
here.  Her  name  is  called  Ramua,  and  she  is  of  her 
mother  Beltani,  that  is  a  widow.  At  sunset,  when  her 
flowers  are  gone,  follow  you  after  her.  And  again  you 
shall  come  to  me  in  my  temple  and  play  to  me  the  music 
of  your  lyre.  You  have  heard  the  chords  of  Allaraine 
of  the  skies.  They  shall  come  again  to  you  to  fill  your 
heart  with  peace,  and  you  shall  be  the  most  wonderful 
of  all  musicians  in  the  Great  City.  Let,  then,  far  Sicily, 
vanish  forever  from  your  mind." 

Charmides  bowed  low.     His  tongue  was  tied  with 


Il8  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

awe.  He  knew  not  what  reply  to  make  to  her.  When 
he  lifted  his  eyes  again  she  had  passed,  and  was  float 
ing  like  a  silver  cloud  across  the  great  platform  towards 
the  open  portals  of  the  temple.  Thereupon  the  Greek 
turned  his  face  to  Ramua,  and,  as  he  clasped  her  hand 
in  his  and  saw  her  black  eyes  lifted  up,  he  laughed  in 
his  heart  with  joy  of  the  Great  City,  and  what  he  had 
found  it  to  hold  for  him. 


II 

THE    SANCTUARY    OF    ISTAR 

THE  temple  of  the  Lady  of  Erech,*  in  Babylon, 
was  the  smallest  of  the  eight  temples  consecrated 
to  the  worship  of  the  twelve  great  gods.  This  tem 
ple  contained  but  three  parts — the  entrance  hall,  the 
great  hall  of  the  sacrifice,  and,  at  the  farthest  end  of 
this  room,  the  inmost  shrine,  or  holy  of  holies,  where 
the  statue  of  the  god  was  generally  kept.  Besides 
these,  there  were  half  a  dozen  little  places,  hardly 
more  than  niches,  where  the  priestesses  and  hiero- 
dules  could  don  sacrificial  garments.  At  the  end  of 
the  great  hall,  in  front  of  the  rich  curtain  that  hid 
the  door  of  the  inmost  shrine,  and  behind  the  sacri 
ficial  altar  and  the  table  for  shew-bread,  was  the  Pa- 
rakhu,  or  mercy-seat,  from  which  the  god,  generally 
in  spirit,  it  was  thought,  was  accustomed  to  hear  and 
answer  the  prayers  of  his  worshippers,  to  perform 
miracles  of  healing,  and  to  accept  offerings.  Here, 
each  day,  Istar  was  accustomed  to  sit  for  an  hour, 
hearing  many  plaints,  listening  to  many  woes,  learn 
ing  much  of  the  piteous  side  of  the  lives  of  men  and 
women  of  the  world.  And  from  this  place  Istar  had 
delivered  many  an  oracle.  Here,  too,  she  cogitated 
painfully  over  the  sins  of  mankind,  which  were  all 
incomprehensible  to  her.  She,  who  was  alone  of  her 
race  on  earth,  sorrowed  most  over  the  loneliness  of 
others  —  those  that  mourned  a  friend  dead,  a  lover 

*  The  worship  of  the  goddess  Istar  began  originally  in  the  city 
of  Erech. 


120  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

lost,  a  child  in  far-off  lands  —  because  this  grief  she 
could  in  some  measure  understand.  But  though  the 
face  of  the  goddess  was  always  sad  when  she  left  the 
mercy-seat,  the  brilliance  of  her  aureole  was  more  be 
wildering  than  ever,  for  pity  quickened  her  divinity 
continually  to  fresh  life. 

Behind  the  temple  of  worship  was  the  building  in 
which  Istar  dwelt.  It  was  a  little  labyrinth  of  small, 
open  courts  and  narrow,  dimly  lighted  rooms.  Nearer 
to  the  dwelling-place  than  to  the  temple,  on  the  same 
platform  with  them  both,  was  the  ziggurat — that  most 
characteristic  feature  of  Babylonian  architecture.  On 
top  of  it,  in  the  centre  of  the  space  used  by  astronomers 
and  astrologers  attached  to  the  temple,  was  the  little 
room  devoted  to  the  person  of  the  goddess.  It  was  here 
that  she  was  supposed  to  sleep  by  night  when  wearied 
with  the  labors  of  the  long  day.  Istar's  chamber  on 
her  ziggurat  was  rendered  almost  unapproachably  sa 
cred  by  the  fact  that  here  she  had  first  been  found  ; 
here  she  was  supposed  to  have  undergone  her  incar 
nation  ;  and  probably  here  she  would  resume  intangi 
bility,  when  her  period  of  life  on  earth  was  over.  In 
point  of  fact  Istar  was  devoted  to  this  little  place. 
During  the  hot  summer  months  she  generally  stayed 
within  it  from  sunset  to  dawn,  perhaps  asleep,  per 
haps  fled  in  spirit  to  other  regions.  The  place  had 
been  fitted  up  with  incredible  costliness,  and  was  kept 
in  scrupulous  order  by  servants  consecrated  especially 
for  the  work,  who  entered  it  only  at  stated  periods 
when  its  mistress  was  absent. 

On  her  return  from  the  long  ceremonials  attendant 
on  the  sacrifice  to  Nebo  and  Nergal,  Istar  went  to  the 
mercy -seat  at  once,  for  it  was  past  her  accustomed 
hour.  There  were  few  suppliants  for  pity  to-day. 
Babylon  had  just  propitiated  two  of  its  great  gods  with 
a  wholesale  slaughter  of  animals,  and  the  people  doubt 
less  felt  that  for  a  day,  at  least,  they  might  rest  from 
the  continual  round  of  religious  duties,  relying  mean- 


THE    SANCTUARY    OF    ISTAR    121 

time  on  the  newly  invigorated  power  of  Nebo  and  Nergal 
to  protect  them  from  the  legions  of  hellish  and  earthly 
demons  that  beset  life  with  such  innumerable  ills. 

Istar's  hour  was  not  long  to  her.  Her  thoughts 
were  centred  on  Charmides,  his  young,  sunny  pres 
ence,  and  the  light  of  wonder  and  worship  in  his  face 
when  she  had  spoken  to  him.  She  had  seen  that  he 
carried  his  lyre  with  him;  and  she  dreamed  of  the 
day  when  he  should  come  before  her  and  sing  as  none 
other  but  Allaraine  could  sing.  Meantime  his  face 
was  before  her  and  would  not  be  banished,  although  in 
the  shadows  before  the  altar  stood  another  man  whose 
presence  had  long  been  part  of  her  surroundings, 
towards  whom  she  felt — if  indeed  she  felt  at  all — as 
towards  no  other  human  being;  whose  whole  presence 
was  as  perfect  a  contrast  to  that  of  Charmides  as  could 
wTell  be  imagined.  It  was  Belshazzar,  who,  since  mat 
ters  of  government  did  not  much  hold  him,  had,  in  the 
last  months  become  Istar's  shadow.  He  lingered  about 
the  temple  whenever  she  was  there;  he  followed  her 
over  the  city  in  his  chariot  when  she  went  abroad; 
at  sunset  he  ascended  the  ziggurat,  to  stand  outside 
the  curtained  door  of  her  sanctuary,  unable  to  see 
her,  but  feeling  her  presence.  When  she  was  near  him 
his  eyes  were  not  always  upon  her,  yet  her  slightest 
movement  never  escaped  him.  And  at  such  times  a 
kind  of  divinity — a  reflection,  perhaps,  from  her — was 
thrown  about  him,  till  it  had  once  or  twice  been  said 
that  the  prince,  like  his  goddess,  moved  in  a  silver 
cloud.  Whether  or  not  it  was  possible  that  Belshazzar 
— Belshazzar  the  tyrannical,  the  dissolute,  the  fierce- 
tempered — had  by  dint  of  will-power  and  persistence 
been  able  to  pierce  the  veil  that  hid  Istar  secure  from 
all  mortal  eyes,  it  would  be  impossible  to  tell.  Istar 
herself  did  not  know.  But  now,  as  many  times  be 
fore,  she  wondered  vaguely  if  her  unearthly  powers 
would  or  would  not  hold  her  from  the  understanding 
of  this  unholv  man. 


122  ISTAR    OF     BABYLON 

The  mercy  hour  over,  two  attendant  ukhatu  ap 
proached  her  with  the  purifying  water  and  her  white 
garment  for  the  evening.  Istar  washed  away  from 
her  own  person  the  sins  and  sorrows  of  her  suppliants, 
suffered  the  robe  to  be  laid  over  her  shoulders,  and 
then  sent  away  the  women,  forbidding  the  temple  to 
be  lighted  till  she  was  gone  from  it,  and  commanding 
the  dismissal  of  the  two  that  prayed  near  the  basin  of 
the  sea.  So,  presently,  she  was  alone  in  the  vast, 
shadowy  room  with  Belshazzar,  who  still  stood,  silent, 
immovable,  arms  folded,  head  slightly  bent,  beside  the 
shew-table,  his  storm-blue  eyes  fixed  in  a  side  glance 
on  her  face. 

Istar  rose  and  descended  from  the  high  place,  and 
then  moved  slowly  in  her  floating  way  to  Belshazzar-'s 
side.  There,  a  few  inches  from  him,  she  halted,  and, 
putting  forth  her  hand,  laid  it  lightly  on  his  arm. 

A  tremor  of  intense  feeling  shot  through  him.  He 
shook  for  a  moment  as  with  palsy.  Then,  raising 
both  hands  in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  he  uttered  the 
one  word— "Belit!" 

Istar  regarded  him  with  a  kind  of  curiosity.  "  Bel- 
shar-utsur,"  she  said,  lingeringly,  with  a  suggestion 
of  hesitation.  Again  the  prince  trembled.  "  Bel-shar- 
utsur — wilt  thou  follow  me?" 

"  To  the  kingdom  of  Lillat,  if  my  goddess  asks,"  he 
answered,  quickly,  in  a  maze  of  confused  delight. 

The  light  of  her  divinity  burned  brighter  round  the 
figure  of  the  goddess,  and  she  made  a  slight  gesture 
for  the  man  to  walk  beside  her.  He  obeyed  with  an 
eagerness  that  was  tempered  by  a  peculiar,  half-re 
sisted  reluctance  which  Istar  perceived  but  did  not 
understand;  for  the  soul  of  this  majestic  body  was 
unknown,  utterly  unknown  to  her. 

Together,  however,  they  left  the  temple  and  passed 
across  the  deserted  platform,  which  was  still  flooded 
with  sunlight,  till  they  reached  the  foot  of  the  ziggurat. 
Here  Belshazzar  halted  with  a  quick  breath  and  an 


THE    SANCTUARY    OF    ISTAR    123 

inaudible  exclamation.  Istar,  turning  a  little  towards 
him,  gave  him  a  wondering  glance. 

"You  fear?"  she  asked,  hardly  knowing  how  to 
voice  her  idea. 

And  Belshazzar,  he  wrho  had  in  his  youth,  in  pur 
suance  of  amusement,  swum  the  Euphrates  lashed 
to  the  back  of  a  wounded  crocodile,  now  raised  his 
hands  again,  saying  imploringly:  "O  Belit! — I  fear!" 

"And  what?  "is  it  I?" 

He  bent  his  head. 

"Belshazzar — come  thou  and  teach  me." 

"Teach— you!" 

"  Yea,  for  there  is  much  that  I  must  know.  There, 
on  the  ziggurat,  where  the  air  is  sweet,  where  we  shall 
be  nearer  the  silver  sky,  thou  shalt  learn  the  purpose  of 
my  earth-life,  and  shalt  tell  me  how  to  attain  it;  for  I 
of  myself  know  not  the  way.  Come." 

This  time  Belshazzar  obeyed  the  command  without 
hesitation,  silently.  Together  they  made  the  ascent 
of  the  broad,  inclined  plane  that  wound  round  and 
round  up  the  tower.  The  man's  steps  were  swinging 
and  vigorous;  yet,  walk  as  rapidly  as  he  would,  the 
goddess  kept  always  a  little  ahead  of  him  though 
she  made  neither  effort  nor  motion,  except  that  now 
and  then  she  touched  her  feet  lightly  to  the  bricks. 
At  the  top,  opening  from  the  broad  gallery  that  ran 
round  the  building  of  the  tower,  was  the  low  door 
way  that  gave  entrance  to  the  holy  of  holies,  Istar's 
shrine.  There  was  no  one  on  the  height  to-day, 
though  ordinarily  at  this  hour  several  ascended  the 
ziggurat  to  watch  the  ascent  of  the  goddess.  Rejoic 
ing  in  the  solitude,  Tstar  leaned  over  the  south  parapet 
of  the  wall,  and  looked  out  upon  the  light-flooded  city, 
while  Belshazzar,  in  a  dream,  waited  at  her  shoul 
der.  After  a  little  while  she  turned,  and,  pushing 
aside  the  leathern  curtain  that  hung  across  the  door, 
conducted  the  prince  over  the  threshold  of  the  sacred 
place. 


124  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

It  was  a  wonderful  room.  At  the  time  of  the  coming 
of  Istar,  indeed,  all  Babylon  had  contributed  to  its 
adorning.  Not  more  than  ten  feet  square  was  the 
little  place,  yet  so  did  it  glisten  and  shine  with  the 
lustre  of  clear  gems  and  burnished  gold,  that  it  seemed 
to  contain  unfathomable  depths,  and  to  be  imbued 
with  something  of  the  divine  radiance  of  its  mistress. 
The  couch  in  it,  like  the  walls,  was  covered  with  plates 
of  beaten  gold,  and  piled  high  with  the  softest  and 
costliest  stuffs  from  the  famous  Babylonian  looms. 
The  throne  and  the  two  chairs,  or  tabourets,  were  of 
Indian  ebony,  inlaid  with  ivory;  and  the  table  and 
deep  basin  for  water  were  of  chased  silver,  worked 
with  crystals  and  emeralds.  All  the  daylight  that 
could  enter  this  room  must  come  through  the  arched 
door  -  way ;  but  a  swinging  -  lamp  of  wrought  gold, 
hanging  in  the  centre  of  the  little  place,  burned  con 
tinually,  night  and  day,  and  shed  a  dim  effulgence 
over  everything. 

When  this  interior  was  first  revealed  to  him,  Bel- 
shazzar  halted  where  he  stood,  gazing  around  with 
self-contained  pleasure  till  Istar,  seating  herself  on  the 
great  chair  that  was  her  throne,  motioned  him  to  one  of 
the  lower  seats.  Belshazzar  sat  in  her  presence,  and  a 
silence  fell  between  them  :  a  silence  that  the  prince 
could  not  have  broken  had  his  life  been  at  stake.  Istar, 
looking  from  her  place  out  through  the  door-way  into 
the  tower-tipped  sky,  seeming  not  to  feel  in  the  slight 
est  the  great  discomfort  of  her  guest,  finally  said,  softly : 

"  Belshazzar,  from  thy  heart,  tell  me,  what  are  thv 
gods?" 

The  man  looked  at  her  in  quick  amazement.  For 
an  instant  he  was  about  to  speak  on  impulse.  Then 
he  resisted ;  and  when  he  did  make  answer  the  reply 
was  conventional.  "Thou,  Istar,  art  my  goddess. 
Babylon  is  mine  only  god." 

"That  last  thou  hast  said  well.  Yet  it,  too,  is  a 
false  god." 


THE    SANCTUARY    OF    ISTAR    125 

"  But  thou,  0  Istar,  I  know—" 

"I  am  no  goddess,  Belti-shar-utsur." 

The  prince  started  nervously  to  his  feet.  "  You  are 
not  mortal?" 

"No.  I  think, indeed,  that  I  am  not.  Yet  I  am  not 
sure.  You  came  to  earth  a  baby,  born  of  woman — is 
it  not  so?" 

"Like  all  men." 

"And  I  descended  from  the  highest  void  through 
space,  till  I  touched  earth  almost  upon  this  spot,  a  wom 
an  as  I  am  now,  clothed  in  my  silver  garment.  It  was 
by  the  command  of  god,  the  great  Bel,  the  One,  the 
True,  that  I  came  hither  from  the  upper  realms  of  the 
great  kingdom.  I  was  what  they  call  archetype.  I 
was  decreed  to  pass  through  the  fire  of  the  world  and 
return  not  to  my  home  till  the  hearts  of  men  were  bare 
before  my  eyes,  till  I  learned  the  secret  of  the  creation. 
Yet  how  these  things  are  to  be  shown  to  me  I  do  not 
know.  Thy  heart,  0  Belshazzar — what  is  it?" 

"It  is  thine,  Lady  of  All." 

"  Open  it  to  me  that  I  may  read." 

The  pleading  simplicity  of  the  tone  made  Belshazzar 
look  at  her  sharply,  and  in  a  new  way.  Still  his  eyes 
failed  to  pierce  the  wave  of  baffling  light  that  flowed 
about  her;  and  still  her  purpose  was  enigmatical  to 
him.  She  had  become  more  incomprehensible  than 
ever. 

"The  hearts  of  men,  Istar,  are  not  always  known  to 
themselves.  Mine  I  could  not  show  you." 

Istar  thought  for  a  little  while  in  troubled  silence. 
Then  she  asked  once  more,  not  hopefully:  "Your 
loves  and  hates,  your  joys  and  sorrows,  your  hopes 
and  fears  —  knowing  these,  could  I  not  understand 
them  and  you?" 

"It  may  be.     I  do  not  know." 

"  Then  let  me  hear,  that  I  may  judge." 

"All  of  them,  Istar — love,  hate,  hope,  fear,  joy,  sor 
row — are  woven  around  my  city,  Babylon,  the  gate  of 


126  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

god.  My  love  is  for  her  and  my  fear  for  her  enemies. 
As  she  is  the  greatest  of  all  cities,  so  is  she  the  most 
loved  and  the  most  hated.  In  her  lie  all  my  joy  and 
sorrow.  In  her  dwell  many  that  I  love,  some  that  I 
hate,  one  that  I  fear.  But  this — " 

"This  will  not  open  to  me  your  secret  heart,  Bel- 
shazzar.  It  is  an  affectation." 

"  By  the  power  of  the  twelve  great  gods — it  is  not!" 

"Then  there  are  two  lives  in  you:  this  one,  and 
another  that  is  hidden." 

Belshazzar  looked  at  her  again  strangely.  "It  is 
true,"  he  said,  at  length,  a  curious  smile  curving  his 
lips. 

"  It  is  of  this  second  life  that  you  must  tell  me. " 

"I  cannot!"  he  said,  quickly. 

"Wherefore?" 

"  It  is  too  ignoble  for  your  ears. " 

"Too  ignoble?  What  should  be  that  for  me?  Nay, 
prince  of  the  city,  my  earth-life  is  weary  and  long,  be 
cause  that  I  am  kept  away  from  life.  I  am  set  apart, 
worshipped  as  one  afar  off,  and  true  life  is  not  laid  be 
fore  me.  To  teach  your  race  the  secret  of  the  one  god 
is  forbidden.  It  is  1  that  come  hither  to  learn ;  yet  I 
am  given  no  way  of  learning.  What  am  I?  Whither 
am  I  to  go,  that  I  may  learn  truth  from  the  hearts  of 
men?" 

"  Hearts,  Divine  One,  may  read  each  other.  But  no 
immortal  that  cannot  feel  the  world  may  understand 
them." 

"Let  me,  then,  become  mortal,  0  God!" 

The  cry  rang  out  louder  than  it  had  been  spoken, 
and  seemed  to  echo  forth,  to  vibrate  through  the  room, 
to  flow  out  and  away  into  the  distant  sky.  The  two 
in  the  sanctuary  listened  to  it  in  silence,  wondering. 
Then  Istar,  tremulous,  and  wavering  with  light,  arose. 

"Leave    me,    Belshazzar!"    she    cried,    suddenly. 
"Leave  me  alone  here!     I  fear  you!" 
."Fear  me?"     He  spoke  softly,  taking  the  attitude 


THE    SANCTUARY    OF    ISTAR    127 

of  prayer.  "  You  are  the  goddess  of  Babylon.  It  is  I 
that  fear.  I  beseech  thee,  lady,  spare  me  thy  wrath. 
As  a  reed  shalt  thou  bend  me.  As  a  twig  shall  1  be 
broken  before  the  strength  of  thy  will.  Divine  One, 
grant  me  favor!  Lady  Belit,  have  pity  upon  my  mor 
tality!" 

As  he  spoke  she  stood  looking  at  him,  shrinkingly, 
uncertainty,  trying  to  fathom  the  false  ring  of  the 
conventional  phrases.  His  attitude,  his  expression, 
his  demeanor,  were  perfectly  sincere;  yet,  whether  he 
himself  were  conscious  of  it  or  not,  the  words  were  not 
honest.  She  perceived  it  instantly.  After  the  little 
pause  of  thought  she  repeated,  faintly: 

"Depart  from  me!"  adding,  afterwards,  "You  mock 
at  me." 

The  prince  drew  a  quick  breath  that  sounded  like  a 
gasp.  Then,  coming  forward,  he  sank  to  his  knees, 
took  the  hem  of  her  fiery  garment,  and  held  it  for  a 
moment  to  his  lips.  Its  flame  did  not  harm.  Rather, 
it  sent  through  his  whole  being  a  shock  of  vitality. 
Rising  hurriedly  after  the  obeisance,  he  inclined  him 
self  again  before  her  and  swept  away,  as  she  had 
commanded,  leaving  her  alone  in  her  sanctuary. 

Istar  remained  where  he  left  her,  lying  back  in  the 
chair,  one  hand  supporting  her  cheek,  her  thoughts 
chaotic  and  troubled  as  never  before.  For  many  months 
past  she  had  felt,  vaguely,  that  which  had  just  definite 
ly  come  home  to  her.  Her  time  on  earth  was  passing 
uselessly  away.  She  was  now  no  closer  to  mankind 
than  she  had  been  before  her  descent.  She  was  treated 
with  such  reverent  awe  as  utterly  precluded  anything 
like  familiar  intercourse  with  any  one.  The  very 
prayers  were  addressed  to  her  in  terms  as  florid  and 
as  general  as  possible.  Her  personal  attendants  per 
formed  their  duties  in  silent  reverence.  The  priest 
hood  treated  her  with  the  impenetrable  respect  that 
they  showed  towards  the  graven  images  of  the  gods. 
And  now,  for  the  first  time,  the  significance  of  all  these 


128  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

things  came  to  her  definitely.  She  perceived  how  they 
were  baffling  her  purpose,  and  the  thought  caused 
her  deep  disquiet.  There  seemed  to  be  but  one  way 
of  opening  life  to  her  immortal  vision.  It  was  through 
the  person  of  Belshazzar,  who  dared,  before  her,  to 
keep  his  individuality.  This  way,  however,  as  she 
had  told  him,  she  feared.  What  the  fear  was,  when 
it  had  come  or  why,  who  could  tell?  Not  Istar.  Now, 
for  so  long  a  time  the  prince  had  been  part  of  her 
wearisome,  objective  existence  that,  up  to  to-night, 
she  had  been  more  inclined  to  regard  him  as  some 
thing  spiritual  than  as  a  man.  Mentally  she  reviewed 
him  and  his  personality,  and  she  found  therein  much 
that  was  beyond  her  undeveloped  powers  of  apprecia 
tion  and  analysis.  His  deep  eyes — how  was  it  that 
they  looked  on  her?  She  had  not  seemed  to  him  so 
awe-inspiring  a  thing  as  others  found  her.  Why? 
His  continual  presence  before  her — was  it  all  from  a 
sense  of  pure  religion  ?  Yet,  if  it  were  not,  what  was 
the  motive?  Istar  did  not,  could  not,  know.  He  did 
not  pray  to  her — quite.  His  attitude  was  peculiar — 
distant — reverent — yet  at  times  there  was  something 
other  than  reverence  in  his  face.  What  it  was — the 
look  that  seemed  to  burn  through  her  veil  —  Istar 
could  not  tell.  Yet  it  was  that  look  that  had  made 
her  fear. 

How  long  she  sat,  passive  and  quiet-browed  within 
her  sanctuary,  thinking  of  these  many  things,  she 
d:.d  not  know.  But  when  finally  she  straightened, 
the  clouds  in  the  east  were  pink  with  the  reflected  light 
of  the  setting  sun. 

The  sky  was  singularly  beautiful  to  her.  It  held 
in  its  far  depths  the  mystery  of  her  birth.  She  re 
garded  it  sometimes  with  yearning,  sometimes  with 
an  unfathomable  wisdom  held  in  her  inmost  being. 
Now  the  curtain  hid  it  from  her  gaze,  and,  with  an 
oppressive  sadness  in  her  heart,  she  crossed  to  the 
door-way  and  lifted  the  curtain-folds,  to  encounter 


THE    SANCTUARY    OF    ISTAR    129 

the  piercing  gaze  of  a  man  who  stood  more  than 
half  -  way  across  the  sanctuary  threshold.  Thin, 
pallid,  hook-nosed,  bearded,  and  wretchedly  clothed, 
he  stood  over  her  radiant  person  and  seemed  to  peer 
into  her  very  soul — this  child  of  the  West,  Beltishaz- 
zar  the  Jew. 

Istar  gasped  and  shrank  quickly  back  into  the  room, 
without  letting  go  her  hold  on  the  curtain.  Daniel 
pressed  his  advantage  and  intruded  farther,  till  he 
also  was  inside.  Her  face  was  indistinguishable  to 
him,  for  the  light-waves  had  quickened  protectively 
round  her  whole  body,  till  she  swam  in  glory.  Seem 
ingly  unabashed,  the  Jew  addressed  her: 

"  Istar  of  Babylon,  grant  me  an  hour  wherein  I  may 
hold  speech  with  you — here,  or  without — upon  the  zig- 
gurat." 

There  was  less  of  entreaty  than  of  command  in  the 
tone;  and  Istar,  unduly  affected  by  the  fanatical  ap 
pearance  of  the  man,  put  his  presence  on  a  level  with 
her  own  personality,  and,  replying  to  his  speech  in 
Hebrew,  his  language,  said : 

"Then  enter  here,  0  Daniel,  and  I  will  listen  to 
you/' 

"You  know  me!"  he  said,  quickly. 

"I  know  men's  names." 

"  And  their  hearts?" 

"Their  hearts!  You  have  said  it!  Their  hearts! 
Oh,  thou  man  of  Jerusalem,  canst  thou  give  me  knowl 
edge  as  to  them?" 

He  looked  at  her  closely,  as  if  to  make  sure  of  her 
meaning.  Then,  taking  courage,  he  replied :  "  Men's 
hearts!  Who,  in  truth,  but  Yaveh,  the  one  God,  shall 
know  them?" 

Istar  made  no  answer  to  the  question,  but  once  more 
motioned  the  Jew  to  enter  the  faintly  lighted  room. 
This  he  did  without  hesitation.  Thereupon  she  cov 
ered  the  door-way  with  its  curtain,  turned  without 
any  sign  of  haste,  and  seated  herself  once  more  on 

9 


130  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

the  high  throne,  but  left  the  Jew  to  stand  before  her. 
Finally,  before  the  words  he  had  framed  could  leave 
his  lips,  she  swayed  forward  slightly  and  asked: 

"What  have  you,  the  child  of  Yaveh,  to  gain  from 
me?" 

"Much — or  nothing." 

"It  is  no  answer,  Daniel." 

Beltishazzar  bent  his  head  and  folded  his  arms 
over  his  breast.  So  he  stood  for  many  minutes,  si 
lent  and  motionless,  while  Istar  waited  serenely  for 
him  to  speak ;  and,  when  he  spoke,  she  was  not  star 
tled  by  his  words  and  their  blunt  directness. 

"Istar  of  Babylon,  what  are  you  —  who  are  you? 
child  of  God,  or  instrument  of  the  devil? — archangel, 
as  some  say,  or  arch-fiend,  as  many  think?  What 
is  your  mission  in  Babylon?  Whence  came  you? 
Whither  do  you  go?" 

Istar  smiled.  "Neither  angel  nor  fiend  am  I,  Bel 
tishazzar,  but  archetype  of  God's  creation.  I  came 
from  space.  Into  it,  in  time,  I  shall  return  again. 
My  mission  I  have  told  you.  I  come  to  learn  the  hearts 
of  men,  their  relationship  to  God." 

As  she  ceased  to  speak  she  found  Beltishazzar's 
eyes  fixed  upon  her  in  a  look  so  penetrating  that  it 
seemed  impossible  it  should  not  pierce  her  veil.  Pres 
ently,  in  the  silence  that  followed,  the  Jew  began  to 
pace  up  and  down  the  little  room.  He  walked  ner 
vously.  His  brows  were  knitted,  his  shoulders  drawn 
up,  his  head  sunk  between  them  in  an  abstraction 
that  Istar  never  thought  of  disturbing.  When,  at 
length,  he  looked  up  at  her  again,  she  found  in  him 
a  new  enthusiasm,  a  spirituality,  an  exaltation  even, 
that  gleamed  like  fire  from  his  sunken  eyes  and  in 
creased  his  unhealthy  pallor  till  his  skin  was  like 
that  of  a  dead  man. 

"Istar,"  he  began,  in  a  voice  low  and  tremulous 
with  incipient  passion — "Istar,  you  have  said  it  was 
from  God  that  you  came  hither  from  space — you,  a 


THE    SANCTUARY   OF    ISTAR     131 

heavenly  being,  an  archangel.  God  despatched  you 
to  earth  for  an  unknown  purpose,  a  purpose  that,  in 
its  fulness,  hath  not  been  confided  to  you,  but  is  re 
vealed  unto  me,  the  prophet  of  Nebuchadrezzar,  the 
great  king.  Listen,  and  thou  shalt  feel  the  response 
of  truth  throb  within  thee  at  my  words. 

"  Forty-and-seven  years  ago  the  holy  city  of  Judah 
fell  before  the  onslaught  of  the  Babylonian  king.  Ze- 
dekiah  and  his  race  were  taken  captive  by  the  hands 
of  the  wicked,  and  were  carried  away  into  exile  to  the 
city  abhorred  of  God  —  Babylon,  the  queen  of  evil. 
Since  then,  in  sickness  and  sorrow,  in  captivity  and 
death,  our  people  have  dwelt  here,  a  piteous  hunger  for 
the  promised  land  gnawing  at  their  hearts,  while  Baby 
lon  waxed  great  and  strong  in  her  wickedness  off  the 
fat  of  many  captive  lands  and  peoples.  Long  have 
we  been  without  hope  of  salvation.  But  now  Nebu 
chadrezzar,  the  fierce  ruler,  is  dead  many  years  since. 
In  his  kingdom  are  sown  the  seeds  of  dissension  and 
strife,  and,  in  the  weakness  of  her  strength,  she  shall 
reap  bitter  fruit.  For  Babylon,  even  as  Nineveh  be 
fore  her,  must  fall.  At  the  hands  of  her  captives  shall 
the  great  city  suffer  destruction  and  death.  Again 
in  their  strength  the  Jews  shall  rise  up  and  smite  the 
tyrant  down.  And  now,  0  Istar,  hear  thou  the  word 
of  the  Lord!  In  this  great  retribution  it  is  thou  that 
shalt  lead  us,  the  chosen  ones;  thou  that  shalt  win 
glory  and  honor  among  us ;  thou  that,  as  Moses  from 
Egypt,  shalt  lead  us  out  of  Babylonia  through  the 
wilderness,  back  to  the  land  of  our  fathers!" 

He  paused  for  an  instant  in  the  midst  of  his  delight, 
to  note  the  effect  of  his  words  on  the  woman — or  an 
gel.  She  sat  before  him  radiant,  wavering  with  light, 
motionless,  unmoved,  inscrutable,  showing  no  de 
sire  to  interrupt  the  flow  of  his  words;  rather,  in  her 
silence,  urging  him  to  greater  heights.  So  he  con 
tinued  : 

"For  forty-and-seven  years  have  we,  the  captives, 


132  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

dwelt  in  the  land  of  bondage;  and  in  that  time,  even 
with  the  hand  of  God  heavy  upon  us,  have  acquired 
honor  and  riches  in  the  country  of  our  woe.  Is  it  not 
a  sign  that  God  is  with  us — that  he  holds  sacred  that 
spot  in  which  we  dwell?  Thou  also  art  from  Him! 
The  end  of  our  trial  approaches!  By  night  I  hear 
the  voice  of  the  Lord  crying  from  the  high  places  that 
thou  art  here  as  a  sign  of  His  protection.  And  I  and 
thou  are  destined  to  lead  the  children  of  Jerusalem 
out  of  bondage.  Mine  is  the  hand  that  will  strike 
down  the  weak  and  faltering  king  of  Babylon — Nabu- 
Nahid,  the  foolish  one.  At  our  hands  priest  and  noble, 
citizen  and  soldier,  yea,  mother  and  infant  of  this  un 
holy  people,  shall  be  made  to  drink  of  their  own  blood. 
And  for  thee,  0  Istar,  shall  be  reserved  the  triumph, 
the  deed  of  danger  and  of  glory!  For  by  thy  hand, 
in  stealth,  when  he  shall  come  to  worship  idola- 
trously  at  thy  shrine,  shalt  thou  strike  to  earth  the 
monster  tyrant  of  the  city,  Nabu  -  Nahid's  son,  the 
child  of  sin,  Belshazzar!  Now  behold — " 

"Thou  infamous  one!" 

Daniel's  rush  of  words  suddenly  ceased.  He  paused 
long  enough,  fully  enough,  this  time,  to  perceive 
and  to  understand  the  situation.  Istar,  trembling 
with  anger  and  disgust,  had  risen  from  her  place 
and  towered  above  him  like  an  archangel  indeed. 
Through  the  blaze  of  light  her  two  eyes  glowed  like 
burning  coals  upon  the  insignificant  creature  cower 
ing  below  her.  Beyond  her  exclamation,  Istar  found 
no  words  to  say.  The  two  confronted  each  other  in 
palpitating  stillness,  and  as  they  stood,  Daniel,  inch 
by  inch,  began  to  regain  his  stature,  and  gradually 
to  move  away,  backward,  towards  the  door.  When 
finally  he  had  his  shoulders  against  the  leathern  cur 
tain,  and  knew  his  ability  to  effect  a  quick  escape 
should  it  become  necessary,  he  delivered  himself  of  a 
final  oracle: 

"Thou  thing  of  evil,  the  Lord  hath  stripped  from 


THE    SANCTUARY    OF    ISTAR    133 

mine  eyes  the  veil!  I  behold  thee  nourishing  the 
serpent  in  thy  bosom.  Thy  master,  Satan,  stands 
at  thy  right  shoulder.  Upon  the  other  hand  is  Bel- 
shazzar,  thy  paramour.  But  I  say  unto  you  that  the 
streets  of  Babylon  shall  run  with  the  tyrant's  blood. 
There  shall  come  a  night  when  Babylon  shall  burst 
into  flames;  when  Nabonidus  will  be  no  more;  when 
Belshazzar 's  life  shall  be  taken  by  the  hands  of  his 
own  people;  when  thou,  in  mortal  terror,  shalt  flee 
the  city  of  thy  wickedness;  when  the  Jew  shall  tri 
umph  over  Bel,  and  the  God  of  Judea  lift  up  his  sword 
in  the  heavens!  Thus,  in  mine  ear,  sounds  the  mighty 
voice  of  the  Lord!" 

Then,  with  one  baleful  gesture,  and  a  fiery  glance 
of  hatred  from  his  bright,  black  eyes,  Daniel  flung 
back  the  curtain  of  the  sanctuary  and  slunk  away, 
with  his  usual  gait,  out  into  the  twilight  and  down 
the  winding  plane  of  the  ziggurat. 

For  many  minutes  Istar  remained  as  she  had  stood 
while  listening  to  the  last  words  of  the  leader  of  the 
captive  race.  Her  limbs  trembled.  Her  eyes  were  dim. 
When  presently  she  felt  the  cool  breath  of  the  evening 
envelop  her,  her  senses  swam.  In  the  midst  of  it  all, 
in  the  midst  of  that  terrible  vision  that  the  Jew  had 
conjured  up  before  her,  there  was  one  thing  that 
stood  out  before  all  else,  till  the  rest  had  lost  all 
significance.  Kill  Belshazzar!  She  kill  Belshazzar! 
Over  and  over  she  repeated  it  to  herself,  unable  to 
understand  why  the  horror  of  the  mere  thought  should 
be  so  great. 

The  swinging -lamp  in  the  sanctuary  mingled  its 
dim,  steady  light  with  that  of  the  rosy  evening.  From 
far  below,  over  the  Great  City,  came  the  faint  hum  of 
weary  millions  that  had  ceased  from  toil — a  drowsy, 
restful  murmur,  suggestive  of  approaching  sleep.  The 
sound  came  gratefully  to  Istar's  ears.  Here  were  no 
battle-cries,  no  shouts  of  attack,  no  wails  of  the  dying. 
Beltishazzar  surely  lied.  Nay,  over  her  senses  began 


134  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

to  steal  a  sensation  of  subtle  delight,  of  exquisite  con 
tent,  of  freedom  from  earth-weariness.  The  hum  of 
the  city  was  gradually  replaced  by  a  long-drawn  celes 
tial  chord,  spun  out  and  out  with  fainter,  increasing 
vibrations,  till  it  died  away  in  the  glow  of  unearthly 
light  that  was  gradually  suffusing  the  room. 

Istar  gave  one  low  cry  of  love  and  relief,  and,  mov 
ing  from  her  strained  position,  lay  down  upon  the 
soft  couch  in  an  attitude  of  expectancy  and  happi 
ness.  Minute  by  minute  the  glow  increased  in  brill 
iance  till  the  little  shrine  palpitated  with  the  fires  of 
a  midsummer  sunset.  Vapors  of  gold,  in  hot,  whirl 
ing  eddies,  floated  from  ceiling  to  floor.  The  objects 
in  the  room  became  indistinguishable,  and  the  light 
was  such  as  must  have  struck  mortal  eyes  blind.  Grad 
ually,  in  the  meeting-point  of  the  radiating  light- 
streams,  there  became  visible  a  darkly  opaque  shape 
upon  which  Istar  fixed  her  eyes.  It  became  more  and 
more  definable.  Suddenly,  from  the  head,  there  flashed 
forth  five  points  of  diamond  light;  and  at  the  same 
instant  Allaraine,  -star -crowned,  emerged  in  mortal 
semblance  from  the  melting  glory.  The  moon-daugh 
ter  rose  from  her  couch,  and  silently  the  two  greeted 
each  other,  looking  eye  into  eye  with  all  the  com 
panionship  of  divinity.  While  they  stood  thus,  Al 
laraine  touched  his  lyre,  and  the  chords  of  the  night- 
song  of  stillness  and  peace  spread  through  the  room 
and  out  into  the  darkness  beyond.  To  mortal  senses 
it  was  the  essence  of  the  summer  day,  with  its  fra 
grance  and  its  passion,  hanging  still,  by  early  night, 
over  the  land  and  the  drowsy  city.  But  to  immortal 
ears  it  was  as  the  voice  of  God.  Istar  drank  it  in  as 
a  thirsty  field  receives  the  rivulets  of  irrigation.  And, 
little  by  little,  as  the  spell  was  woven  to  its  close,  the 
star-crowned  one  drew  her  towards  the  throne,  on  which 
he  caused  her  to  sit,  himself  floating  at  a  little  distance. 

"  Allaraine !  Allaraine !  You  bring  again  the  breath 
of  space,  my  home!" 


THE    SANCTUARY    OF    ISTAR    135 

"Yea,  Istar!" 

"And  a  half-mortal  sadness  looks  upon  me  from 
your  incarnate  eyes." 

"Beloved  of  the  skies,  I  am  troubled — troubled  for 
you.  It  is  as  a  messenger  knowing  little  that  I  come 
to  you  from  the  great  throne." 

"What  message?     What  message?" 

"This:  'As  immortal  men  are  yet  mortal,  so  shalt 
thou  be.  And  by  means  of  pain,  of  sin,  of  death,  and 
of  love,  shalt  thou  in  the  end  know  mankind  through 
thyself;  and  for  thee  will  there  be  freedom  of  choice." 

Measuredly,  clearly,  but  unintelligently,  Allaraine 
pronounced  the  words  that  were  to  him  a  mystery; 
and  Istar  listened,  wondering,  a  dim  foreboding  at  her 
heart.  After  a  long  pause  she  spoke  mechanically  the 
two  words : 

"  Mortal !     I!" 

"Mortal.     Thou.     Istar,  the  heavens  mourn!" 

"And  why,  Allaraine?" 

"  To  see  thee  in  pain,  in  sin,  in  death — " 

Istar  raised  her  hand.  "  Have  peace !  These  are 
in  the  world,  but  they  are  not  all.  There  is  something 
besides,  that  I  have  seen,  yet  that  neither  I,  nor  thou, 
nor  any  of  our  kind  can  understand.  Sweeter  than 
all  the  rest  are  hard,  higher  than  sin  is  low,  more  joy 
ful  than  death  is  sad,  love  reigns  over  men.  Love  is 
from  the  central  fire  of  God,  as  we  are  but  its  outer  rays. 
Love  walks  through  all  the  earth,  passing  to  and  fro 
among  men,  making  them  to  forswear  sin,  to  forget 
suffering,  to  overcome  death.  Those  that  love  are 
happy  in  spite  of  all  things.  This  much  have  I  learned 
on  earth.  And  if  mortality  is  decreed  for  me,  I  shall 
find  love  with  the  rest.  Fear  not  for  me,  for  willingly 
I  bow  down  in  acceptance  of  suffering,  of  pain,  of 
wandering  in  the  maze  of  ignorance,  for  the  sake  of 
this  thing  that  men  know  and  that  I  cannot  under 
stand." 

"  And  thou  wilt  gladly  forget  us?" 


136  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"Nay,  Allaraine.  In  the  long  nights  and  troubled 
days,  thou,  as  ever,  wilt  bring  me  comfort." 

"Ah,  Istar — that  may  not  be." 

"May  not?  I  shall  lose  the  musie — the  commun 
ion—"' 

"All  things  divine  will  be  lost.  You  enter  into  the 
wilderness  of  the  world." 

Istar  bent  her  head  and  was  silent.  She  who  had 
seemed  to  understand  so  much,  realized  nothing.  At 
last,  lifting  her  head  heavily,  she  asked :  "  When  does 
it  come,  this  farewell  to — my  home?" 

"Not  until  you,  of  your  own  will,  renounce  divin- 

ity." 

"Not  till  I  seek  it?  Nay,  this  very  night  I  asked 
it  of  the  Almighty." 

"Yea,  and  the  cry  was  heard.  Mortality  shall  be 
yours  whenever  of  your  own  free  will  you  renounce 
us  all  for  that  which  mortality  will  give." 

"Ah,  then  —  then,  immortal  one  —  I  shall  remain 
the  Narahmouna."* 

Allaraine  shook  his  head  thoughtfully  and  said: 
"Of  that  I  do  not  know.  I  have  brought  the  mes 
sage.  Sleep,  celestial  woman.  I  go." 

Obediently  Istar  lay  down  upon  her  couch,  and  the 
white  eyelids  closed  over  the  unfathomable  eyes.  Al 
laraine,  standing  over  her,  looking  down  upon  her 
mortal  form  with  infinite  pity,  infinite  ignorance, 
lifted  up  his  lyre  once  more,  and,  by  the  magic  of  his 
power,  Istar's  spirit  quickly  fled  to  the  land  of  dreams. 
There  Allaraine  left  her  to  await  the  dawn  of  the 
new  day,  with  its  monotonous,  wearying  duties,  and 
its  weight  of  dim,  indefinable  foreboding,  that  as  yet 
was  all  of  the  earth-life  of  Narahmouna  the  divine. 

*  Her  archetypal  name,  Istar  being  only  a  cognomen,  the  name 
given  her  by  the  people. 


Ill 

A  BABYLONISH    HOUSEHOLD 

BABYLON,  the  largest,  richest,  and  most  power 
ful  city  in  the  world,  and  of  Oriental  cities  prob 
ably  the  most  beautiful,  presented,  to  the  discerning 
eye,  not  a  few  glaring  incongruities.  Though  its 
population  had  always  been  large,  and  was  at  the 
present  time  greater  than  ever  before  or  after,  the  act 
ual  area  of  the  city  was,  nevertheless,  much  too  great 
for  the  number  of  people  that  dwelt  in  it.  There  have 
been  kingdoms  of  fewer  acres  than  those  over  which 
the  monster  city  spread.  Between  the  two  walls, 
Imgur  and  Nimitti-Bel,  were  grain-fields  of  sufficient 
extent  to  supply  the  entire  population  with  sesame, 
barley,  and  wheat  in  the  event  of  a  prolonged  siege. 
This  part  of  Babylon,  therefore,  called  city  by  cour 
tesy,  was  really  more  in  the  nature  of  farm-lands  than 
anything  else.  While  within  the  inner  wall,  indeed 
almost  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  were  many  bare 
and  unsightly  acres,  used  for  nothing  better  than 
dumping-grounds,  or  for  encampments  of  the  troops 
of  dogs  that  wandered  freely  through  the  streets  as 
scavengers.  In  some  quarters,  however,  and  espe 
cially  along  the  banks  of  the  five  canals  cut  from  the 
Euphrates,  and  winding  out  towards  Borsip  on  the 
west  and  Cutha  on  the  east,  every  available  inch  of 
soil  was  occupied.  Houses  jutted  over  the  streets 
and  were  crowded  together,  side  by  side  and  back  to 
back,  without  any  attempt  at  system:  tenement  dis 
tricts  such  as  the  worst  cities  of  later  times  never 


138  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

dreamed  of.  Here  the  three-story,  flat-roofed  build 
ings  would  be  rented  out,  room  by  room,  to  as  many 
people  as  poverty  obliged  to  live  in  them.  And  these 
were  myriad.  For  as  Babylon  was  the  wealthiest  of 
cities,  so  she  concealed  in  her  depths  nests  of  filthy, 
swarming  life,  of  suffering  and  of  privation  such  as 
only  human  beings  could  see  and  still  tolerate. 

On  the  edge  of  one  of  these  districts,  between  the 
square  of  Nisan  and  the  square  of  the  gods,  on  the 
north  bank  of  the  canal  of  the  New  Year,  in  two  tiny 
rooms,  with  a  little  space  also  on  the  roof,  lived  the 
widow  Beltani,  her  daughters,  and  their  male  slave. 
The  slave  was  Beltani's  sole  inheritance  from  her  hus 
band.  He  was  her  luxury,  her  delight,  the  outlet  of  her 
not  unfrequent  tempers,  and  one  of  the  three  sources  of 
a  very  limited  income.  Her  daughters  were  the  other 
two  means  of  livelihood,  but  to  them — though  as  girls 
go  they  were  pretty — she  was  indifferent.  Beltani  her 
self  was  not,  like  so  many  of  the  Babylonish  women, 
in  trade.  She  did  the  work  of  the  household;  cooked 
— what  there  was  to  cook;  washed — also  what  there 
was  to  wash ;  kept  the  rooms  clean,  as  was  consistent 
with  tradition;  and,  hardest  of  hard  tasks,  managed 
the  general  income  so  that,  in  the  two  years  of  their 
unprotected  life,  none  of  the  four  had  starved  outright, 
and  none  of  them  had  gone  naked,  while  the  rent  was 
also  paid  as  regularly  as  it  could  not  be  avoided.  Be 
sides  this,  Beltani  held  the  patronage  of  two  of  the 
great  gods ;  and  by  their  help,  together  with  frequent 
incantations,  had  kept  the  devils  of  the  under-world 
from  inflicting  upon  her  any  particularly  direful  mis 
fortune.  Images  of  the  god  Sin,  of  Bel-Marduk,  and  of 
the  demons  of  Headache  and  the  West  Wind,  were  the 
only  ornaments  of  her  rooms.  Each  of  these,  however, 
had  its  shrine,  and  was  regularly  addressed  three  times 
a  day ;  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  if  any  demon  had  a  due 
sense  of  proportion,  he  would  refrain  from  inflicting  any 
further  ill  of  life  upon  these  poor  and  pious  creatures. 


A    BABYLONISH    HOUSEHOLD    139 

Neither  chair  nor  rug  had  Beltani.  Four  pallets, 
such  as  they  were,  three  in  an  inner  room,  one  in  a 
corner  of  the  living-room;  a  wooden  movable  table 
and  a  brick  stationary  one;  some  vessels  of  clay,  two 
iron  pots,  three  knives,  and  a  two-pronged  fork,  to 
gether  with  an  iron  brazier  that  was  kept  upon  the 
roof,  and  lastly,  three  or  four  rough,  wooden  stools, 
formed  the  furniture  of  the  house.  Nevertheless  laugh 
ter,  and  that  from  very  pretty  throats,  was  a  thing 
not  unheard  in  this  poverty-stricken  place;  and  as 
many  human  sensations,  from  joy  of  life  to  pain  of 
death,  had  run  their  course  in  these  rooms  as  in  the 
magnificent  abode  of  Lord  Ribata  Bit-Shumukin,  just 
across  the  canal. 

At  sunset  on  the  day  of  the  great  sacrifice  to  Nebo 
and  Nergal,  Beltani  stood  in  the  door-way  of  her  living- 
room,  watching  the  gory  light  burn  over  the  city,  and, 
fist  on  hip,  shouting  gossip  to  neighbor  Noubta  of  the 
next  tenement. 

"Have  you  been  on  the  A-Ibur  to-day,  Beltani?" 
called  the  Bee,  when  one  of  their  intimates  had  been 
pretty  well  demolished  at  that  distance. 

"No.  Few  enough  holidays  are  mine  to  take. 
From  morning  to  night  the  girls  run  about  the  city, 
and  some  one  must  be  at  home  to  manage." 

"Ay,  there's  your  slave.  What  good  is  he  if  he 
can't  take  the  rooms  in  charge  once  in  a  month?  We 
have  no  slave,  and  my  man's  at  work  on  the  reservoir 
all  day;  but  I  slipped  out  this  morning  and  went  off 
to  see  the  sights.  Such  crowds!  All  the  city  was 
out.  I've  a  rent  in  my  fresh  tunic." 

"Well,  I  couldn't  go.  One's  slave  may  do  much, 
but  he  isn't  to  be  trusted  with  everything.  Bazuzu, 
is  the  sesame  ground?"  This  last  ostentatiously; 
for  Noubta  was  busily  pounding  her  own  barley. 

Bazuzu  made  some  reply  from  within,  and  after  a 
moment  came  out  of  the  room,  bowl  in  hand.  Jet- 
black,  high-shouldered,  and  slightly  lame,  for  all  that 


140  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

as  powerful  as  an  ox  was  Bazuzu.  His  appearance 
was  startlingly  uncouth  as  he  limped  out  in  answer  to 
Beltani's  question.  But  a  gentler  light  never  shone 
from  mortal  eyes  than  from  his;  and  a  gentler  nature 
never  lurked  in  so  ugly  a  body. 

Beltani  took  the  bowl  from  his  hand,  and,  calling 
a  good-night  to  her  neighbor,  proceeded  leisurely  to  the 
stair- way  that  ran  up  the  outside  of  the  building  to  the 
roof.  It  was  on  the  roof  that  every  family  in  the  tene 
ment  did  its  cooking,  except,  indeed,  in  the  rainy  sea 
son.  In  all  these  districts  the  roof  was  the  one  luxury, 
the  one  comfortable,  light,  shaded  spot,  cool  and  airy 
in  the  summer  evenings,  protected  through  the  day 
by  an  awning  hung  each  morning  and  taken  down  at 
sunset.  Roof-space  was  portioned  off  to  tenants  ac 
cording  to  the  number  of  their  rooms;  and  up  here, 
for  them,  life  was  sometimes  really  worth  the  living. 

While  Beltani  was  up-stairs  beginning  the  prepara 
tions  for  supper,  Bazuzu  remained  in  the  door-way, 
shading  his  eyes  from  the  light  of  the  west,  and  look 
ing  with  some  interest  out  towards  the  canal.  Noubta 
the  Bee,  still  pounding  barley,  looked  also,  and  pres 
ently  called  to  him : 

"  Baba  is  coming,  there,  with  the  goat,  Bazuzu. " 

And  Baba  presently  appeared.  She  walked  slowly, 
with  a  limp,  for  her  feet  were  sore  and  inflamed  from 
contact  with  the  burning  pavements.  Beside  her  the 
silky  goat,  Zor,  trotted  along  with  gentle  friendliness. 
Over  her  left  shoulder  hung  a  long  string  of  pine-cones, 
gathered  in  a  grove  by  the  river  and  brought  home 
for  firewood.  As  she  reached  the  door-way  the  slave 
took  these  from  her  and  carried  them  up  to  Beltani. 
Baba,  meantime,  entered  the  house,  passed  into  the 
second  room,  where  she,  her  mother,  and  sister  slept, 
and  threw  herself  wearily  down  upon  her  bed.  She 
lay  here  quite  still,  eyes  wide  open,  one  thin,  brown 
fist  thrown  above  her  head,  the  other  hand  on  her 
breast,  an  expression  of  intense,  never-ending  weari- 


A   BABYLONISH    HOUSEHOLD   141 

ness  upon  her  peaked  little  face.  Over  her,  lying 
thus  as  usual  after  the  long  day  of  wandering,  Zor 
stood,  looking  at  her  with  half-human  disturbance. 
Presently  she  ran  her  tongue  sympathetically  over 
Baba's  hand,  and  then,  with  a  goat-sigh,  settled  down 
on  the  floor  beside  her,  her  white,  silken  coat  close  to 
Baba's  coarse,  cotton  garment.  It  was  a  peaceful  half- 
hour  that  they  spent  before  Bazuzu  came  to  relieve  Zor 
of  her  burden  of  milk.  Then  Baba  opened  her  eyes, 
realizing  that  it  approached  supper-time.  Rising  with 
an  effort,  she  passed  into  the  other  room  to  wash  at 
the  big,  open  jar  of  water  standing  there.  Her  head, 
arms,  and  hair  were  just  dripping  refreshingly,  when 
there  came  an  incursion  from  without.  First  arrived 
Beltani,  flushed  with  astonishment  and  anger;  after 
her  followed  Ramua,  in  company  with  a  golden-haired 
youth  bearing  a  silver  lyre.  At  sight  of  him  Baba 
gave  a  spasmodic  gurgle  of  amazement,  and  then 
stood  wet  and  staring,  while  her  sister  gave  an  ex 
planation  of  the  coming  of  Charmides. 

"Istar  hath  bidden  it,  0  my  mother,"  she  said, 
pleadingly,  while  Beltani  still  glared.  "He  is  come 
from  over  the  desert.  He  is  weary,  and  he  is  poor." 

This  last  explanation  was  the  worst  mistake  that 
Ramua  could  have  made.  "Poor!"  burst  forth  Bel 
tani,  angrily.  "  Poor!  And  is  it  thy  thought  that  our 
wealth  is  so  great  that  we  must  house  here  another 
one — we  who  have  not  the  wherewithal  to  exist  ex 
cept  in  misery  ?  Why  is  the  great  goddess  wroth  with 
us?  Wherein  have  I  offended  her,  that  she  sends  me 
another  mouth  to  feed?  What  can  he  do,  this  pale- 
eyed,  white-headed  thing?  Who  is  he  that  you  bring 
him  home  with  you?  What  have  you  done,  Ramua? 
How  speak  you  to  men  that  you  do  not  know — men  of 
his  class?  I  will — " 

She  suddenly  stopped;  for  Charmides'  "pale"  eyes 
were  fastened  on  her  intently,  as  if  he  would  have 
read  her  words  from  her  expression.  And  indeed, 


142  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

if  this  was  his  idea,  the  success  of  it  was  unique.  For 
when  the  gaze  that  caused  Beltani  to  stop  speaking, 
Baba  to  shake  with  cold,  confusion,  and  hysterical 
laughter,  and  Ramua  to  turn  fiery  red  with  shame, 
had  lasted  as  long  as  Beltani  could  endure  it,  Char- 
mides,  with  business-like  precision,  brought  forth  his 
money-bag,  drew  therefrom  a  piece  of  silver,  and  quietly 
proffered  it  to  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

Beltani  accepted  the  money  without  the  grace  of  an 
instant's  hesitation.  Moreover,  she  advanced  into 
the  light,  where  she  could  examine  it  more  closely  to 
make  sure  that  it  was  good.  "  It  is  not  our  money. 
Has  it  any  value?"  she  asked,  looking  squarely  at  the 
Greek. 

Baba  went  white,  Ramua  blushed  crimson,  and 
only  Charmides  kept  his  countenance  unchanged. 
It  was  to  Ramua  that  he  looked,  this  time,  for  some 
guidance  as  to  Beltani's  meaning;  and,  looking  at 
her,  he  presently  forgot  to  wonder  why  the  old  woman 
still  held  his  leafy  coin  suspiciously  up  in  the  light, 
after  a  moment  repeating,  sharply : 

"Is  the  money  of  real  silver,  I  say?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes!"  cried  Baba,  disrespectfully.  " This 
very  morning  I  changed  one  of  them  for  twenty  se." 

"  You  changed  one?"  asked  Ramua,  wonderingly. 
"How?" 

"  He  bought  of  me  a  cup  of  Zor's  milk  this  morning 
as  we  stood  near  the  square  of  the  gods  in  the  A-Ibur." 

Ramua  laughed  merrily.  "Then  it  was  your  se 
that  he  paid  me  for  bread  and  dates  at  noon." 

"He  pays,  then?"  queried  Beltani. 

Ramua  had  begun  her  reply  when,  to  the  surprise 
of  all  three  of  them,  Charmides  himself,  who  at  last 
had  understood  a  whole  phrase,  and  thus  grasped  the 
situation,  came  out  with  a  stammering  and  broken, 
"I  pay."  And  forthwith  he  took  from  his  bag  an 
other  piece  of  silver  and  held  it  out  to  Beltani,  who 
received  it  shamelessly,  while  both  girls,  indignant 


A   BABYLONISH    HOUSEHOLD    143 

and  helpless,  looked  on.  Fortunately,  at  this  junct 
ure,  Bazuzu  came  down-stairs  to  say  that  the  sesame 
boiled,  the  dates  were  cooled,  and  the  jar  of  beer  had 
been  set  out  on  the  roof. 

Baba  returned  to  her  neglected  toilet;  while  Beltani, 
turning  to  Ramua  with  a  very  agreeable  "  Bring  the 
stranger  up-stairs/'  departed  in  haste  to  see  that  enough 
had  been  cooked  to  include  Charmides  in  the  meal, 
and  yet  leave  something  for  Bazuzu  afterwards. 

Ramua  waited  till  Baba  had  retired  to  the  sleeping- 
room  to  bind  up  her  hair;  and  then,  rather  apologet 
ically,  indicated  to  Charmides  the  water-jar.  He  pro 
ceeded,  not  without  a  little  qualm  of  distaste,  to  plunge 
his  head  and  arms  into  the  same  water  used  ten  minutes 
before  by  Baba.  How  Ramua  managed  Charmides 
never  learned;  for,  while  he  shook  the  water  from  his 
hair,  and  wiped  his  face  and  hands  with  a  garment  of 
his  own  taken  from  his  bundle,  his  companion  followed 
her  sister  to  the  inner  room,  from  which  they  present 
ly  emerged  together,  glowing,  demure,  smooth-haired, 
and  ragged  only  as  to  tunics.  The  three  together 
then  mounted  the  brick  staircase  in  the  deepening 
twilight,  to  find  the  whole  tenement  on  the  roof  at 
supper. 

Beltani,  who  had  waited  impatiently  for  their  ap 
pearance,  was  shouting  across  to  a  friend  certain  pieces, 
of  information  in  a  way  that  terrified  Ramua.  Char 
mides  might  again  display  that  unlooked-for  com 
prehension;  and  if  he  did! — Ramua  flushed  in  the 
semi-darkness.  But  the  rhapsode,  though  he  did  not 
understand  one  word  in  twenty  of  those  that  were 
spoken  about  him,  had  already  formed  a  very  fair 
opinion  of  Ramua's  mother;  and  nothing  that  she 
could  have  said  would  much  have  amazed  him.  But, 
disagreeable  as  she  was,  he  felt  that  more  than  she 
might  be  endured  for  the  sake  of  sitting,  at  each 
meal,  so  close  to  that  delightful  bit  of  humanity,  Ra 
mua.  As  to  Baba,  with  her  big  eyes  and  pinched  face, 


144  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

and  the  wonderfully  beautiful  little  body  concealed  by 
her  hopelessly  insolvent  garments,  she  meant  nothing 
to  him  now,  one  way  or  the  other.  It  was  all  Ramua 
— Ramua,  who,  with  her  pretty,  quiet  helpfulness, 
her  modesty,  and  also,  in  no  small  measure,  her  very 
apparent  satisfaction  in  his  presence,  made  the  im 
pressionable  Sicilian  at  home  in  Babylon. 

Before  supper  was  begun  Bazuzu  came  up  to  the 
roof  again,  bearing  in  his  hand  a  lighted  dish-lamp. 
Chaldean  twilights  were  very  short.  Day  and  night 
were  too  fond  to  be  kept  at  arm's-length,  and  almost 
before  a  sunset  had  time  to  reach  the  height  of  its  glory, 
gray  shadows,  the  loving  arms  of  darkness,  were  en 
circling  the  glow,  and  presently — lo! — from  the  east 
a  string  of  stars  was  shining  forth,  and  day  had  fallen 
to  the  night's  caress. 

The  hour  of  the  meal  was  as  a  dream  to  Char- 
mides ;  a  dream  so  vivid  that,  long  years  after,  when 
he  approached  old  age,  he  found  himself  able  to  re 
call  with  ease  every  look,  every  gesture,  every  shad 
ow  that  passed  before  his  eyes.  The  taste  of  boiled 
sesame  and  garlic  never  failed  to  bring  back  the  im 
pression  of  this  meal;  and  time  came  to  be  when  the 
master-singer,  of  his  own  accord,  would  go  forth  to 
purchase  the  coarse  food  that  should  conjure  up  again 
before  him  Beltani's  masculine  face  watching  him 
out  of  the  shadows;  Baba's  big  eyes  fixed  unwink- 
ingly  upon  him ;  the  ungainly  figure  of  Bazuzu,  stand 
ing  in  the  background  beside  Zor,  the  goat;  lastly, 
delight  of  all  delights,  Ramua  again  beside  him,  at 
his  shoulder,  her  head  turned  just  a  little  away,  her 
eyes  refusing,  out  of  shyness,  to  meet  his,  her  pure 
profile  all  that  was  to  be  seen  of  her  face,  a  little  of 
her  smooth  shoulder  just  visible  through  a  sudden 
rent  in  the  tunic.  And  at  this  point  Charmides  would 
cover  his  eyes  with  his  hands  to  hold  the  memory, 
and  laugh  a  little  out  of  pure  joy  that  it  had  all  been 
so. 


A   BABYLONISH    HOUSEHOLD    145 

At  the  time  of  its  happening,  however,  one  could 
not  have  called  Charmides  joyful.  He  was  weary, 
he  was  hungry,  he  was  conscious  that  the  object  of 
his  journey  had  been  fulfilled,  and  that,  now  that  all 
was  done,  his  home  was  at  a  measureless  distance, 
and  there  seemed  no  immediate  prospect  of  returning 
to  it.  Onion-flavored  grain,  eaten  with  an  awkward 
wooden  spoon  out  of  the  same  dish  from  which  three 
others  were  also  eating,  might  be  poetic  to  think  of, 
but  was  not  delightful  in  actuality.  To  eat  with  Ra 
mua — well  and  good  in  its  way;  with  Beltani,  how 
ever — no!  and  as  for  Baba,  he  regarded  her  already 
with  displeasure.  Her  eyes  were  too  big  and  her  body 
too  meagre. 

There  was  not  much  conversation  at  supper.  The 
uncertainty  as  to  the  actual  powers  of  Charmides  in 
the  way  of  understanding  the  Babylonish  tongue  was 
dampening  to  the.  general  spirit.  Beltani  could  only 
dream  of  the  morrow,  when  she  should  have  an  hour's 
rest,  at  any  cost,  for  chatter  with  Noubta;  at  which 
time  the  estate  and  importance  of  the  fair-haired  one 
would  be  definitely  settled.  Meantime  supper  must 
be  got  over  as  rapidly  as  possible.  The  sesame 
duly  finished,  what  remained  in  the  dish  was  handed 
over  to  Bazuzu ;  and  bread,  dates,  and  cheese  being 
portioned  out,  the  women  rose  from  their  stiff  post 
ures  and  took  up  less  constrained  positions  in  vari 
ous  spots  on  the  roof.  Ramua  carried  her  fruit  over 
to  the  edge  of  the  roof  and  sat  there  in  the  starlight, 
her  feet  hanging  over  the  unrailed  edge,  munching 
comfortably.  Charmides  finished  his  second  course 
where  he  sat  at  table.  Baba  had  thrown  herself  down 
by  Zor,  who  was  eating  a  hearty  supper  of  refuse ;  and 
Beltani  went  to  the  other  end  of  the  roof  to  visit  a 
friend.  Now  the  Greek,  scenting  an  opportunity,  fin 
ished  his  dates,  and  darted  down  the  stair-way,  to  re 
turn  after  a  few  minutes'  search  in  the  darkness  with 
his  lyre.  Ramua  did  not  notice  his  return,  for  she  had 


146  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

not  seen  him  go.  But  Baba's  little  hand  tightened  on 
Zor's  silken  hair,  when  she  felt  that  he  had  come  back 
to  the  roof.  Without  moving  or  making  any  sound, 
without  even  a  change  in  expression,  she  saw  him 
hesitate  for  the  fraction  of  a  second,  and  then  pass 
quietly  over  and  seat  himself  at  Ramua's  side. 

Charmides  was  disappointed,  perhaps,  that  the  maid 
en  made  no  sign  of  satisfaction  at  his  coming.  She 
sat  staring  up  into  the  high,  star-spangled  heavens, 
oblivious,  apparently,  of  everything  below  them.  He 
also  remained  silent,  looking  off  towards  the  dark  canal 
that  wound,  black  and  smooth,  between  the  high  build 
ings  jutting  over  it  on  either  side.  After  all,  Babylon, 
the  city  of  which  he  had  dreamed  so  long,  held  noth 
ing  that  was  strange  to  him.  It  had  been  so  long  his 
heart-home  that  he  loved  it  now.  As  he  thought  of 
all  that  he  had  done  for  the  sake  of  being  within  its 
giant  walls,  and  as  he  reflected  upon  the  success  of 
his  great  purpose,  he  forgot  Ramua  beside  him.  He 
had  not  come  for  her.  She  was  only  a  part  of  the 
city,  the  city  that  he  had  discovered  out  of  the  mighty 
west.  How  far  above  him  he  had  thought  all  Babylon 
must  be !  Yet  here  it  was,  at  his  right  hand ;  and  he 
might  touch  it  where  he  would,  it  would  welcome  him. 

Pleased  with  his  thoughts,  Charmides  ran  his  fin 
gers  over  the  silver  strings  of  his  lyre;  and,  because 
he  was  accustomed  to  express  his  emotions  in  that 
way,  he  lifted  up  his  voice  and  sang,  in  a  gentle  tone, 
some  rippling  Grecian  verses  in  a  melody  so  delight 
ful  that  Ramua  turned  to  marvel,  and  little  Baba  laid 
her  head  down  upon  Zor's  warm  coat  in  rapturous 
delight. 

Presently,  however,  Charmides  stopped  short.  Bel- 
tani,  drawn  by  the  sound  of  his  voice,  returned  to  her 
corner  of  the  roof,  and  in  the  darkness  stumbled  over 
Baba's  prostrate  body.  There  was  a  harshly  angry 
exclamation,  a  sharp  blow,  a  stifled  cry  of  distress, 
and  then  her  mother  was  at  Ramua's  side,  command- 


A    BABYLONISH    HOUSEHOLD    14? 

ing  her  down-stairs.  The  girl  obeyed  without  pro 
test,  and  Charrnides  followed  her,  distressed  and  help 
less.  In  the  rooms  below,  a  torch  and  a  lamp  gave 
forth  a  dim  and  greasy  light.  In  the  first  room,  against 
the  wall,  sat  Bazuzu,  who  had  just  finished  arranging 
a  bed  for  the  stranger.  It  was  but  a  heap  of  rags  and 
mats,  covered  over  with  a  torn  rug;  and  Charrnides 
was  soon  made  to  understand  that  upon  this  he  was 
expected  to  pass  the  night. 

The  whole  room  was  utterly  uninviting.  However, 
he  was  tired  enough  genuinely  to  welcome  the  thought 
of  rest,  and  he  looked  for  the  women  to  retreat  to  their 
own  room  at  once.  He  soon  discovered,  however,  that 
there  was  no  hope  of  their  immediate  retirement. 
Baba,  having  driven  her  goat  into  its  corner,  where 
it  obediently  lay  down,  went  back  to  the  door-way  and 
stood  looking  out  upon  the  night.  Ramua  was  busy 
making  a  little  fire  on  the  brick  table,  out  of  two  pine- 
cones.  Beltani  held  a  bit  of  wood,  which  she  was  la 
boriously  shaping  with  a  knife  into  a  crude  imitation 
of  a  human  figure.  Charrnides  watched  her  with  no 
little  curiosity.  Her  whittling  finished,  she  carefully 
gathered  up  all  the  shavings  and  threw  them  into  the 
fire.  Then,  with  a  word,  she  summoned  Baba  and 
Bazuzu  to  her  side,  and,  with  an  imperious  gesture, 
brought  the  Greek  also  into  the  circle  around  the 
little  fire.  Very  solemnly  she  placed  in  the  centre 
of  the  flame  the  wooden  image  that  she  had  carved ; 
and,  while  the  fire  caught  it  up,  the  four  Babylonians 
lifted  their  voices  dolefully,  in  the  old  Accadian  in 
cantation  against  demons : 

"0  witch,  whosoever  thou  art,  whose  heart  con- 
ceiveth  my  misfortune,  whose  tongue  uttereth  spells 
against  me,  whose  lips  poison  me,  and  in  whose  foot 
steps  death  standeth,  I  ban  thy  mouth,  I  ban  thy  tongue, 
I  ban  thy  glittering  eyes,  I  ban  thy  swift  feet,  I  ban 
thy  toiling  knees,  I  ban  thy  laden  hands,  I  ban  thy 
hands  behind.  And  may  the  moon -god,  our  god, 


148  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

destroy  thy  body;  and  may  he  cast  thee  abroad  into 
the  lake  of  water  and  of  fire.  Amanu." 

This  prayer,  of  which  Charraides  understood  not 
a  word,  but  the  import  of  which  he  pretty  clearly 
guessed,  was  the  regular  conclusion  of  the  day.  No 
Babylonian  of  the  lower  class  could  have  passed  the 
night  in  peace  having  omitted  this  exorcism.  When 
it  was  over  Bazuzu  filled  a  dish  with  the  ashes  and 
carried  it  outside  the  door,  setting  it  just  over  the 
threshold,  where  no  thing  of  evil  could  enter  the 
house  without  passing  it.  This  done,  Beltani,  with 
a  gesture  of  good -night  to  the  stranger,  retreated 
into  her  bedroom,  with  Baba  on  the  one  side  of  her 
and  Ramua  on  the  other. 

Now  at  last  Charmides  was  free  to  rest.  Bazuzu, 
of  course,  was  in  the  room;  but  he,  having  extin 
guished  the  lamp,  and  making  signs  that  when  Char 
mides  was  ready  to  sleep  he  should  put  out  the  torch, 
laid  himself  down  upon  his  pallet,  and,  turning  his 
face  to  the  wall,  fell  soundly  asleep.  Charmides  did 
not  follow  immediately.  In  the  flickering  light  he 
knelt  down  and  prayed  to  his  lord*  Apollo  of  the  Sil 
ver  Bow,  rendering  thanks  for  the  safe  accomplish 
ment  of  his  journey,  and  acknowledging  the  god-head 
of  Istar,  whom,  in  his  heart,  he  regarded  as  Artemis 
incarnate. 

His  devotions  over,  he  rose,  extinguished  the  torch, 
and  felt  his  way  to  the  bed.  He  sank  upon  it  with  a 
sensation  of  delight.  His  weary  limbs  relaxed,  and  for 
a  moment  his  head  swam  with  the  relief  of  the  re 
clining  position.  Nevertheless,  it  was  some  time  be 
fore  he  slept.  Through  the  open  door- way  the  cool, 
sweet  breath  of  the  summer  night  stole  in  upon  him. 
In- the  square,  black  patch  of  sky  visible  where  he 
lay  came  two  or  three  stars :  the  same  stars  that  had 
looked  on  him  in  Sicily.  A  sudden  spasm  of  long 
ing  and  of  fear — fear  of  his  strangeness,  his  help 
lessness  in  this  vast  city,  came  over  him  then.  From 


A   BABYLONISH    HOUSEHOLD    149 

out  of  the  night  he  heard  his  mother's  voice  calling 
him  from  the  shore  of  the  sea;  and  he  answered  her 
with  a  moan.  For  a  little  time  her  form  stood  out  be 
fore  his  eyes,  clear  and  luminous  against  the  black 
background.  Then,  gradually,  the  blinding  rays  of 
Istar's  aureole  replaced  her,  and  Istar  herself  was 
before  him,  in  all  her  surpassing  beauty.  After  a 
time  she  flashed  out  of  his  sight,  but  not  before  the 
thought  had  come  to  him,  unsummoned,  that  he  had 
not  yet  finished  with  Istar  of  Babylon  in  her  city ;  that 
she,  the  great,  the  unapproachable  goddess,  would  need 
him  at  some  future  time  to  succor  her.  He  smiled  at 
the  idea,  thinking  it  a  dream.  And  with  the  thought 
of  dreams  he  entered  the  land  of  them,  nor  came  forth 
again  till  morning  dawned. 

The  night  wore  along,  and  there  came  to  be  but 
one  sleeper  in  the  room.  Black  Bazuzu  was  awake,  sit 
ting — no,  standing  up.  He  moved  noiselessly  to  the 
door-way,  and  picked  up  there  one  of  the  baskets  of 
his  own  making.  With  this  he  crossed  the  threshold 
of  the  door,  stepping  carefully  over  the  witch's  plate, 
and  presently  disappeared  into  the  blackness  beyond. 
An  hour  later  he  came  quietly  in  again,  put  his  bas 
ket  into  its  place,  and  stopped  to  listen  carefully  to 
the  sound  of  his  companion's  breathing.  It  had  not 
changed.  With  a  satisfied  nod  the  slave  returned  to 
his  couch,  laid  him  gladly  down,  and  slept. 

Sunlight  streaming  over  his  face,  the  sound  of  a 
quick  exclamation,  and  a  little  ripple  of  laughter, 
brought  the  Greek  to  his  senses  next  morning.  Ra- 
mua,  bright-eyed  and  smiling,  sat  in  the  door-way,  a 
heap  of  fresh  and  dewy  flowers  in  her  lap,  a  basket- 
tray  beside  her.  She  was  fastening  up  little  bouquets 
of  roses,  lilies,  heliotrope,  nasturtiums,  iris,  narcissi, 
and  the  beautiful  lotus.  Baba,  as  usual,  was  play 
ing  with  Zor,  who  had  just  made  another  rent  in 
her  much-tattered  garments;  and  Bazuzu  lay  upon 
his  pallet,  still  asleep.  Presumably  Beltani  was  on 


150  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

the  roof.  Charmides  hoped  so.  He  had  already  come 
to  prefer  her  at  a  distance.  But  at  present  the  rather 
unusual  arrangements  of  this  household  puzzled  him; 
and  he  could  not  tell,  from  precedent,  where  any  of  its 
members  would  ordinarily  be  at  this  hour. 

Charmides  rose,  not  a  little  embarrassed  at  having 
been  asleep  in  the  presence  of  Ramua  and  her  sister. 
He  became  in  time  accustomed  to  the  very  free  manners 
current  among  Babylonians  of  the  lower  class;  but 
at  present  he  was  mightily  relieved  when  Ramua, 
with  a  tact  hardly  to  be  hoped  for,  jumped  up  from  her 
place,  and,  calling  to  Baba  to  follow  her,  departed 
towards  the  roof  with  her  fragrant  burden.  Char 
mides  at  once  began  his  toilet,  which  he  happily 
finished  without  interruption.  Then,  leaving  Bazuzu 
still  asleep,  he  sought  his  hosts  in  the  upper  air. 
Breakfast  was  ready,  and  it  proved  to  be  a  gala  meal. 
There  was  meat — goat's  flesh  from  the  yesterday's 
sacrifice.  For  on  days  that  followed  great  religious 
festivals  the  flesh  from  the  sacrificial  hecatombs  was 
sold  at  a  minimum  price  to  the  poor,  so  that  the  greater 
part  of  Babylon  had  meat  to  eat.  Besides  this,  there 
were  milk  and  bread;  and  Charmides,  in  a  sunny 
mood,  felt  that  the  king  himself  could  have  desired 
nothing  more. 

The  meal  was  quickly  over,  and,  a  few  minutes 
afterwards,  Charmides  could  scarcely  have  told  how, 
he  found  himself  walking,  lyre  in  hand,  at  Ramua's 
side,  along  the  bank  of  the  canal,  on  the  way  to  the 
temple  of  Istar.  On  her  head  Ramua  carried  her 
basket  of  fresh  flowers.  The  Greek  watched  her  close 
ly  and  with  delight  as  she  moved,  lithe,  straight,  and 
graceful  as  a  young  tiger,  her  bare  feet  making  deli 
cate  marks  in  the  dust  of  the  way,  her  hair,  to-day 
unbound,  swinging  behind  her  in  long,  silken  masses. 
And  Charmides'  beauty-  loving  eyes  brought  joy  to 
his  soul  as  he  regarded  her.  Yet  his  walk  was  not 
wholly  a  light-hearted  one.  His  mind  was  troubled 


A    BABYLONISH    HOUSEHOLD    151 

with  thinking,  as  other  men  thought,  as  he  had  not 
thought  before,  of  a  means  of  livelihood.  Here  he 
was,  thrown  utterly  on  his  own  resources.  If  he 
would  live  he  must  work — must  gain  enough  to  keep 
him,  however  simply,  when  his  father's  money  was 
used  up.  This  conviction  was  not  an  easy  one  to 
face.  There  was  but  one  thing  that  he  knew  how  to 
do  well,  and  at  all  times  liked  to  do,  and  that  thing 
held  forth  small  promise  of  earning  him  money.  His 
poor  lyre!  In  any  province  of  Greece,  or  Lydia, 
there  had  been  small  cause  for  worry.  Rhapsodists 
were  of  a  class  apart,  and  were  reverenced  by  an  art- 
loving  people  as  on  an  equality  with  their  priests. 
Zeus  might  be  the  greatest  Olympian ;  but  Apollo  had 
a  shrine  in  every  heart.  Babylonia,  however,  was  not 
Greece;  and  what  the  Babylonian  fancy  for  music 
might  be,  Charmides  did  not  know.  Thus  when  the 
long  walk  was  ended,  and  Ramua  had  taken  her  place 
on  the  platform  steps  below  the  temple  of  Istar,  she 
looked  up  into  his  face  to  find  the  usually  bright  coun 
tenance  as  solemn  as  that  of  an  ibis.  Nor  could  any 
word  or  look  of  hers  bring  more  than  the  shadow  of  a 
smile  to  his  lips. 

Charmides  stood  beside  her  for  a  few  moments,  look 
ing  across  the  thinly  peopled  square.  Then  his  shoul 
ders  straightened.  He  gave  a  little  outward  mani 
festation  of  his  mental  state,  looked  at  Ramua  with 
a  farewell  smile,  and  left  her,  walking  swiftly  away 
towards  the  A-Ibur-Sabu. 

Ramua,  confounded,  cried  after  him  impulsively: 
"You  will  return!  You  will  return  to  me  at  noon?" 

Charmides  looked  round,  nodding  reassuringly,  but 
whether  in  response  to  her  words  or  merely  in  an 
swer  to  her  voice,  the  maiden  could  not  tell.  She  sat 
quite  still  where  he  had  left  her,  her  head  drooping 
a  little,  utterly  forgetful  of  her  business,  paying  not 
the  least  attention  to  possible  buyers.  The  sun  poured 
its  bright,  scorching  heat  down  upon  the  gray  bricks. 


152  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Water-sellers  were  to  be  heard  crying  their  ever-wel 
come  refreshment.  Chariots,  carts,  and  litters  passed 
through  the  square.  The  city's  voice  rose  murmur- 
ously  through  the  heat,  and  one  by  one  the  usual  beg 
gars  and  venders  made  their  appearance  on  the  plat 
form  steps. 

Through  the  hours  Ramua  sat  spiritless,  watching 
those  that  passed  up  the  temple  steps,  selling  her  flow 
ers  unsmilingly,  half  unwillingly,  to  those  that  offered 
to  buy.  At  early  noon  she  felt  a  first  qualm  of  hun 
ger,  and  looked  up  to  find  the  sun  at  its  zenith.  With 
a  start  she  came  to  herself.  It  was  past  her  usual 
luncheon  hour.  All  around  her  little  meals  of  bread, 
sesame,  and  dates  were  being  brought  forth  by  the 
habitues  of  the  steps.  The  cripple  on  Ramua's  left 
hand,  thinking  perhaps  that  she  must  go  hungry  to 
day,  proffered  her  half  of  his  loaf  with  a  compas 
sionate,  misshapen  grin.  Ramua  refused  him  with  a 
forced  smile,  and,  heavy-hearted,  took  out  her  food 
and  showed  it  to  him.  There  was  enough  for  two 
in  her  package  to-day;  and  she  regarded  it  unhap 
pily,  still  hesitating  to  eat,  while  the  hope  that  Char- 
mides  might  return  died  within  her.  Once  again  she 
looked  over  the  deserted  square,  and  then,  resolutely 
turning  her  face  to  the  temple,  took  one  dry  mouth 
ful  of  bread.  Charmides  was  gone  for  evermore.  She 
should  not  see  him  again.  Another  bite:  Charmides 
had  been  killed.  A  third :  his  body  was  floating,  face 
downward,  in  the  black,  hurrying  waters  of  the  cruel 
Euphrates.  A  fourth,  a  fifth,  a  sixth,  and  there  ap 
peared  a  tear,  that  rolled  uncontrollably  down  her 
pretty  nose.  She  put  her  bread  away — when  before 
had  she  not  been  hungry  at  noon? — and  then  sat  with 
her  head  bent,  trying  to  conceal  her  grief  from  the 
sympathetic  beggar. 

Presently  some  one  came  up  the  steps  and  sat  down 
close  beside  her.  She  felt  the  presence,  but  did  not 
look  round.  Suddenly  a  big,  ripe  melon  was  placed 


A   BABYLONISH    HOUSEHOLD    153 

before  her,  by  a  hand  too  white  for  Babylon.  Ramua 
started  up,  with  a  spasmodic  breath,  and  her  face 
glowed  like  the  sun  after  a  summer  storm.  Char- 
mides,  the  morning  trouble  all  gone  from  his  face, 
was  at  her  side.  In  one  hand  he  held  a  number  of 
ripe  figs.  The  other  had  borne  the  melon.  Ramua 
retired  at  once  within  herself,  too  shy  to  do  more  than 
smile  faintly  and  then  try  to  hide  her  face,  with  its 
unconcealable  joy.  But  such  a  welcome  pleased  the 
Greek  more  than  anything  else ;  for,  as  he  was  begin 
ning  to  realize,  his  instincts  regarding  woman  nature 
were  quite  unexpectedly  reliable. 

Luncheon  was  now  eaten  in  earnest;  and  the  crip 
ple  could  not  but  be  amazed  at  the  change  in  Ramua 's 
appetite.  With  a  little  laugh  she  broke  the  melon  on 
the  steps,  and  proffered  a  large  piece  of  it,  together 
with  his  bread  and  dates,  to  the  Greek.  She  herself 
ate  slowly  but  willingly,  answering  the  looks  of  the 
rhapsode,  and  even  talking  to  him  in  the  tongue  that 
he  could  not  understand. 

There  came  a  time,  however,  after  the  last  fig  was 
gone  and  the  cup  of  water  had  been  bought  and  drunk, 
when  embarrassment  fell  between  the  two.  Ramua 
feared,  dreaded,  and  then  half  hoped  that  Charmides 
would  rise  and  go  away  again,  this  time  to  stay.  She 
felt  that  she  could  make  no  effort  to  keep  him  at  her 
side.  She  would  have  given  half  her  life  to  be  able 
to  treat  him  with  natural  gayety;  and  yet,  had  she 
been  able  to  do  so,  the  essence  of  delight  in  all  this 
would  be  gone.  Charmides  himself  was  suffering 
from  the  inability  to  talk  to  her.  But  after  an  un 
bearable  period  of  awkward  silence  he  strove  to  solve 
their  difficulty.  Leaning  over  from  where  he  sat,  and 
touching  the  girl's  tunic,  he  said  to  her,  by  means  of 
signs  and  looks,  and  a  word  or  two : 

"What  is  the  name  of  this?" 

Ramua  smiled  with  delight.  "  Kadesh "  she  re 
plied;  and  in  this  way  Charmides' course  of  study  was 


154  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

begun.  The  first  lesson  lasted  for  an  hour,  and  at  the 
end  of  it  the  Greek  knew  not  a  few  words  that  promised 
to  stick  in  his  memory.  When  he  felt  that  he  could 
retain  no  more,  he  stopped  her,  and  sat  conning  his 
lesson  on  the  steps  in  the  sunshine,  while  she,  tardily 
recalled  to  duty,  took  her  flower-basket  and  went  forth 
into  the  square  to  proffer  her  somewhat  drooping  bou 
quets  to  the  passers-by.  By  the  time  she  returned  to 
her  companion  the  sun  was  midway  down  the  heavens, 
and  Charmides,  lyre  in  hand,  stood,  evidently  waiting 
for  her.  By  means  of  signs  he  made  her  understand 
that  he  must  leave  her  till  after  sunset,  when  he  would 
return  again  to  the  square  to  go  home  with  her. 

Ramua  did  not  ask  his  destination.  Very  probably 
he  could  not  have  made  her  understand  it  had  she  done 
so.  She  watched  him  pass  down  a  narrow  street  that 
led  to  the  southwest,  out  of  the  square  of  Istar,  in  the 
direction  of  the  temple  of  Sin.  It  was  to  the  holy  house 
of  the  moon-god  that  Charmides  went;  for  his  single 
morning  in  Babylon  had  found  him  a  means  of  liveli 
hood. 

Though  he  himself  was  unaware  of  the  exact  posi 
tion  that  he  held,  he  was  attached  to  the  temple  as 
an  oracle.  That  morning,  as  he  had  hummed  himself 
through  the  square  of  Sin,  one  of  the  Zicaru,  or  monks 
in  service  at  the  temple,  had  chanced  to  hear  his  voice, 
and,  perceiving  that  the  singer  was  of  foreign  race,  and 
being  himself  a  highly  educated  man,  as  were  all  of 
his  order,  addressed  the  fair-haired  one  in  the  west 
ernmost  language  that  he  knew — Phrenician.  Char 
mides  had  come  near  to  falling  at  his  feet  and  wor 
shipping  in  the  delight  of  finding  some  one  to  speak 
to.  But  the  Zicari  led  him  gravely  into  one  of  the 
inner  rooms  of  the  temple  and  there  asked  him  sing  and 
speak  and  play  upon  his  instrument,  and  after  a  time 
made  him  an  offer  to  join  the  temple  service,  unor 
dered  as  he  was,  and  to  do  exactly  what  he  was  told 
for  about  three  hours  in  the  day.  The  pay  was  high, 


A    BABYLONISH    HOUSEHOLD   155 

and  to  Charmides  it  seemed  that  a  miracle  of  fortune 
had  befallen  him.  Such  being  the  case,  it  was,  per 
haps,  just  as  well  that  he  did  not  understand  the  full 
significance  of  his  duties.  For  an  hour  in  the  morn 
ing  he  was  to  stand  inside  of  the  heroic  statue  of  the 
god,  and  to  speak  through  the  half-open  mouth  words 
whispered  in  his  ear  by  an  attendant  priest.  He  was 
not  told  that  his  peculiar  pronunciation  of  the  Baby 
lonian  syllables  and  the  melodious  softness  of  his 
voice  were  invaluable  adjuncts  to  the  oracle  of  Sin; 
and  that,  furthermore,  the  fact  that  he  understood  not 
a  word  of  what  he  said  made  him  more  desirable  for 
the  place  than  any  member  of  the  under  -  priesthood 
would  have  been.  Besides  this  curious  wrork,  he  was 
supposed  to  assist  at  sacrifices  by  playing  on  the 
flute  or  lyre;  and  by  means  of  these  light  duties  his 
livelihood  became  an  assured  thing,  and  his  place  in 
Babylon  was  secure.  He  asked  no  questions,  either 
of  himself  or  of  the  priest,  his  master.  He  accepted 
everything  with  childlike  faith;  and,  verily,  it  seemed 
that,  brush  as  he  would  against  the  world,  the  bloom 
of  his  pristine  innocence  would  never  be  rubbed  from 
Charmides'  unstained  soul. 

So,  having  found  a  home  and  an  occupation,  within 
forty-eight  hours  after  his  arrival  in  the  Great  City, 
Charmides'  life  in  Babylon  began. 


IV 
BELSHAZZAR 

CHARMIDES  found  no  loneliness  in  his  Babylo 
nish  life.  In  an  unaccountable  way  he  felt  it  to 
be  the  home  of  his  spirit.  The  dirty,  narrow,  barely 
furnished  rooms  of  the  tenement  of  Ut;  the  vast  temple 
of  Sin,  where  he  performed  the  light  tasks  that  gave 
him  his  livelihood ;  the  platform  of  the  temple  of  the 
goddess,  where,  with  Ramua  close  at  hand,  the  hours 
were  wont  to  fly  on  rosy  wings ;  the  long  streets,  the 
myriads  of  people,  the  hum  of  the  city,  the  curious, 
solemn,  ceremonious  bearing  of  its  inhabitants,  all 
these  welded  themselves  into  such  a  life  that  some 
times,  in  dead  of  night,  he  cried  out  in  the  fear  that  it 
was  all  a  dream:  a  dream  from  which  he  could  only 
pray  not  to  wake. 

In  the  second  week  there  happened  something  that 
gave  him  a  great  thrill  of  exalted  pride.  It  was  eight 
days  after  his  arrival;  in  fact,  the  noon  after  the 
third  Sabbatu  of  the  month  of  Duzu  (June).  He  was 
sitting  with  Ramua  on  the  steps  of  the  temple  of  Is- 
tar,  munching  dates  and  struggling  with  new  phrases 
in  the  apparently  hopeless  Chaldean  tongue,  when  a 
veiled  hierodule  came  out  of  the  temple  and  down  the 
platform  stairs,  with  the  request  that  Charmides  follow 
her  to  the  presence  of  Belit  Istar,  who  longed  for  the 
sound  of  his  voice. 

The  Greek  felt  a  quiver,  half  of  fear,  half  of  delight; 
and,  rising  at  once,  and  leaving  Ramua  and  his  meal 
behind,  followed  the  attendant,  not  into  the  temple, 


BELSHAZZAR  157 

but  behind  it,  towards  the  entrance  court  of  Istar's 
dwelling.  Here,  upon  a  heap  of  rugs,  beneath  a  can 
opy  of  Egyptian  embroidery,  the  goddess  reclined. 
Charmides,  however,  did  not  see  her  till  after  he  had 
encountered  the  gaze  of  one  who  stood  just  inside  the 
arch  of  the  door  in  the  wall.  This  was  he  who  had 
followed  Istar  in  his  chariot  home  from  the  procession 
of  the  gods,  he  at  whose  remarkable  appearance  Char 
mides  had  so  marvelled:  Belshazzar,  the  king's  son. 
Still  was  he  godlike,  imperial  enough  to  look  upon ; 
but  the  Greek  forgot  his  presence  while  Istar  was  again 
before  him.  When  his  gaze  fell  on  her  he  started 
slightly,  turned  his  eyes  away  for  an  instant,  and 
looked  again.  Yes — it  was  true.  Through  the  shim 
mering  veil  her  form  was  clearly  visible.  She  was 
not  now  only  a  cloud  of  dazzling,  palpitating  light. 
Immortal  still,  and  radiant  she  was,  but — Charmides 
let  his  thoughts  break  off  quickly.  Istar  was  com 
manding  him,  in  Greek,  to  play  to  her.  He  lifted  his 
lyre  at  once,  and,  under  the  spell  of  music,  he  forgot 
himself,  half  forgot  her  before  whom  he  played,  in 
contemplation  of  the  ideal  created  by  the  harmonies. 
When,  after  half  an  hour,  he  was  stopped  and  dis 
missed,  he  left  the  divine  presence  in  a  state  of  exal 
tation.  Belshazzar  was  but  a  blur  beside  the  door 
way,  and  Ramua,  when  he  returned  to  her,  seemed  a 
trifle  less  beautiful  than  usual. 

After  this,  every  day,  Charmides  gave  half  of  his 
noon  hour  to  this  new  form  of  worship.  It  wras  Ra- 
mua's  pride  as  well  as  his.  She  never  grudged  the 
time ;  and,  on  his  return  to  her  side,  never  failed  to 
ask  of  his  success,  nor  to  beam  with  delight  when 
he  confessed  it.  At  each  of  these  visits  Charmides 
realized  that  Belshazzar  was  present;  but  the  fact 
made  little  impression  on  him.  He  saw  her  whom 
he  worshipped  quicken  to  new  life,  to  new  radiance, 
at  sound  of  his  voice  and  the  chords  of  his  lyre;  and, 
when  he  left  the  court,  the  storm  in  the  eyes  of  the 


158  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

king's  son  went  unnoticed.  Yet  the  storm  was  there, 
daily  increasing  in  fury ;  and  there  came  a  time  when 
it  passed  control  and  burst  forth  in  the  very  presence 
of  her  whom  both  men  worshipped. 

It  was  noon  on  the  seventh  of  Abu  (July),  a  day 
on  which  Babylon  lay  quivering  under  a  fiercer  sun 
than  before.  The  city  was  exhausted  with  the  recent 
end  of  the  annual  three-day  feast  of  Tammuz;  and 
Charmides  himself  was  weary  and  a  little  faint  when 
he  entered  Istar's  presence.  Belshazzar,  with  what 
seemed  a  scarce  pardonable  liberty,  had  thrown  him 
self  face  downward  on  a  rug  near  the  portal  of  the 
court.  At  the  first  note  of  Charmides'  song  a  slight 
twitching  of  the  muscles  in  the  prince's  back  betray 
ed  his  hearing  of  the  song.  But  as  the  voice  went 
on,  as  Charmides,  even  in  his  weariness,  sang  with 
a  depth  of  feeling  that  he  had  never  before  exhib 
ited,  the  other  man  lifted  his  head  to  look  at  Istar. 
Under  the  spell  of  the  music  that  was  a  divine  gift, 
she  was  becoming  more  and  more  the  old-time  unap 
proachable  goddess.  The  rays  of  the  aureole,  which, 
half  an  hour  before,  had  vibrated  so  slowly  as  scarce 
ly  to  disturb  the*  eye,  were  quickened  to  a  new  life. 
Blinding  streams  of  light  poured  about  her  now. 
And  Istar  herself  was  quivering  with  a  strength,  with 
a  delight,  that  was  apart  from  earthly  things.  Char 
mides'  voice  showed  its  power,  its  beauty,  its  clear 
heights,  its  mellow  depths,  as  never  before.  He  had 
begun  with  a  most  delicate  pianissimo,  in  tones  of 
exquisite  restraint  and  purity,  the  old  myth  of  Al- 
pheus  and  Arethuse  —  a  thing  that  he  had  sung  a 
hundred  times  before,  yet  never  as  now.  The  tones 
blended  with  the  rippling  harmonies  of  his  lyre  in  a 
stream  as  pure  and  limpid  as  the  current  of  the  sacred 
river.  The  Greek  syllables,  music  in  themselves, 
fitted  so  perfectly  to  the  melody,  that  Allaraine  him 
self,  afar  off,  listened  with  surprise  and  pleasure.  Bel- 
shazzar  alone,  perceiving  how  Istar's  divinity  in- 


BELSHAZZAR  159 

creased  with  each  sweep  of  the  instrument,  trembled 
with  anger.  The  song  rose  towards  its  climax.  Istar 
had  become  oblivious  to  everything  but  the  sound  of 
that  voice.  Charmides,  inspired,  had  lost  himself  in 
the  heaven  of  his  own  making.  Suddenly,  from  be 
side  him,  came  a  hoarse,  choked  cry,  the  sound  of 
hurried  running,  and  the  lyre  was  struck  furiously 
from  his  hands  down  to  the  brick  pavement. 

""£le  elirtjv  'A\<plvg  fi,^  .  .  .\"  The  song  stopped. 
Panting  with  broken  emotion,  Charmides  faced  about. 
His  face  was  pale  and  his  lips  drawn  with  displeas 
ure —  with  something  more  than  that.  Before  him, 
shaking  with  jealous  wrath,  towered  Belshazzar,  his 
hand  uplifted,  his  eyes  flaming. 

There  was  silence.  Charmides  waited  immovably 
for  the  blow  to  fall.  But  Belshazzar  did  not  strike 
him.  Istar  lay  back,  trembling.  Under  the  influ 
ence  of  these  human  and  gross  emotions,  the  vibra 
tions  of  light  around  her  diminished  so  rapidly  that 
one  could  see  them  melt  away ;  and  soon  she  was  left 
almost  without  divine  protection — a  woman,  in  wom 
an's  garb.  Finally,  however,  with  no  trace  of  weak 
ness  in  her  manner,  she  rose,  confronting  the  two 
men.  For  a  moment  her  gaze  travelled  from  one  to 
the  other.  Then,  passing  to  Charmides,  she  halted 
by  his  side,  touched  his  shoulder  lightly  with  her  hand, 
and  pointed  to  the  door-way. 

"  Go,  thou  disciple  of  Apollo.  Fear  not.  I  will  send 
to  thee  a  lyre  that  is  not  dishonored.  To-morrow  come 
to  me  again — as  always/' 

Then,  while  the  Greek  still  quivered  with  the  thrill 
of  her  touch,  she  walked  with  him,  two  or  three  steps, 
towards  the  open  arch. 

In  the  mean  time  Belshazzar,  broken  now,  waited 
before  her  place.  When  the  light  trailing  of  her  gar 
ments  passed  near  his  feet  again,  he  suddenly  lifted 
his  head  and  looked  at  her.  They  were  face  to  face, 
and  their  eyes  met.  Istar's  glance  shone  clear  and 


160  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

baffling  upon  the  man,  yet  before  it  Belshazzar  would 
not  lower  his.  He  was  making  an  almost  inhuman 
effort,  mental  and  physical,  to  overcome  the  perfect 
poise  that  proclaimed  her  more  than  human.  But 
Belshazzar  could  not  cope  with  a  thing  divine.  His 
strength,  to  the  last  drop,  was  gone.  She  was  su 
perior  to  him.  He  knew  it.  Goddess  she  was — must 
be!  He  must  acknowledge  it — must  submit.  Slowly 
he  lifted  his  arms  and  crossed  them  on  his  breast. 
Slowly  his  dark  head  was  lowered.  With  bitter  hu 
miliation  he  gave  the  signal  of  defeat.  Istar  moved 
slightly. 

"Give  me  the  broken  lyre,"  she  said,  softly. 

Belshazzar  sought  it  where  it  lay,  bright  and  shat 
tered  on  the  pavement.  He  proffered  it  to  her  humbly, 
and  saw  her,  receiving  it,  touch  it  to  her  breast.  He 
shut  his  eyes  that  he  might  not  see  the  hated  thing 
made  whole;  but,  looking  up  again,  he  saw  the  in 
strument  still  splintered,  still  unstrung.  She  had  not, 
then,  performed  the  miracle. 

He  had  but  a  moment  more  with  her.  Presently 
she  raised  her  hand,  and,  with  the  slightest  of  gestures, 
dismissed  him  from  her  presence.  Belshazzar  could 
not  disobey  the  command.  Blindly,  weakly,  without 
a  glance  behind,  he  moved  towards  the  portal.  Thus 
he  did  not  see  the  goddess,  as  he  left  the  court,  sud 
denly  reel,  and  an  instant  afterwards  fall  back  upon 
the  pile  of  rugs,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands, 
and  exhibiting  every  sign  of  human  distress.  On  the 
contrary,  humiliated,  hopeless,  and  disturbed  by  the 
temerity  of  his  thoughts,  yet  as  rebellious  as  before, 
the  prince  of  Babylon  crossed  the  platform  and  de 
scended  the  steps  where  Charmides  sat  with  Ramua. 
The  prince  scarcely  saw  the  Greek  as  he  passed  him; 
and  Charmides  only  lifted  his  eyes  in  time  to  behold 
Belshazzar's  back,  and  to  watch  him  cross  the  square 
to  the  spot  where  his  chariot  waited.  The  driver,  at 
his  master's  approach,  leaped  to  his  place,  drawing 


BELSHAZZAR  161 

up  the  heads  of  the  powerful  black  animals.  The 
prince  entered  the  vehicle.  Nebo-Ailu.  gave  a  quaver 
ing  cry.  The  horses  plunged  forward,  and  the  shin 
ing  chariot  clattered  after  them  down  the  A-Ibur-Sabu.. 

"To  the  house  of  Amraphel,"  said  Belshazzar;  and 
Nebo-Ailft  inclined  his  head. 

They  passed  swiftly  down  the  great  street  to  where, 
north  of  the  square  of  the  gods  and  the  holy  houses  of 
Nebo  and  Nergal,  stood  the  spacious  palace  of  Am 
raphel,  high -priest  of  Bel  -  Marduk,  and  chief  of  the 
priesthood  of  Babylon. 

As  the  chariot  of  the  prince  royal  drew  up  before 
the  palace  gate,  two  attendants  always  in  waiting 
there  ran  out,  their  swords  held  horizontally  above 
their  heads,  in  presentation  to  one  high  in  authority. 
Belshazzar  remained  like  a  statue  where  he  stood, 
and  Nebo-Ailu  requested  audience  with  the  high-priest 
in  such  terms  as  the  prince  would  have  used  towards 
an  equal;  for  the  priest  of  Bel-Marduk  was  not  at  the 
command  of  the  king. 

The  slaves  disappeared  with  their  message,  and 
Belshazzar  waited,  motionless,  moving  not  so  much  as 
an  eyelash,  acknowledging  no  obeisance  made  him 
by  a  passer-by :  for  such  was  the  etiquette  of  royalty 
at  that  day.  After  many  minutes  in  this  trying  at 
titude,  a  little  company  of  eunuchs  emerged  from  the 
gateway.  In  their  midst,  shaded  by  a  large,  swing 
ing  parasol,  and  fanned  on  either  side  by  black  slaves, 
was  Amraphel,  an  old  man,  white  -  bearded,  bright- 
eyed,  his  stiff,  white  hair  crowned  with  a  red,  conical 
cap,  his  flowing  muslin  skirts  sweeping  the  pave 
ment,  and  the  goat-skin  bound  upon  his  left  shoulder. 
Slowly  he  moved  towards  the  chariot.  Ten  feet  from 
the  wheel  he  stopped.  At  the  same  instant  Belshaz 
zar  turned  his  head.  They  gave  to  each  other  the 
brother  salute — of  the  mind,  the  lips,  and  the  heart. 
Then  Amraphel,  who  was  doing  the  prince  an  extraor 
dinary  honor,  said : 


162  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"Will  the  lord  prince,  governor  of  the  city,  enter 
into  my  house?" 

"  Receive  my  thanks  for  thy  favor.  Nay,  Amraphel, 
it  is  Nabu-Nahid,  the  king,  my  father,  that  asks  if 
thou  wilt  be  conducted  by  me  to  his  presence.  He 
has  some  communication  to  make  to  thee." 

"I  will  command  my  chariot." 

Belshazzar  leaped  from  his  place,  while  Nebo-Ailu 
descended  more  carefully  and  went  to  stand  at  the 
horses'  heads.  "Let  my  chariot  be  yours,  Lord  Am 
raphel,"  observed  the  prince,  courteously. 

The  old  priest  bowed  acknowledgment,  and,  having 
quickly  whispered  in  the  ear  of  his  nearest  slave :  "  My 
chariot  at  the  gate  of  the  new  palace  within  an  hour," 
stepped  forward  and  mounted  into  the  royal  vehicle. 
Belshazzar  followed  him,  and  this  time  took  the  reins 
himself,  leaving  Nebo-Ailu  to  reach  home  on  foot; 
for  there  were  few  chariots  that  afforded  comfortable 
standing-room  for  more  than  two  people. 

Nebo-Ailu  left  the  horses'  heads  just  as  JBelshazzar's 
ringing  cry  sent  them  plunging  up  the  A-Ibur-Sabu. 
At  no  great  distance  north  of  the  palace  of  the  high- 
priest  there  ran  off  from  the  boulevard  a  narrow  but 
well-paved  road,  that  wound  eastward  and  north  to 
that  part  of  the  river  that  was  lined  with  palaces — on 
the  east  shore  Nebuchadrezzar's  and  Nabopolassar's, 
side  by  side,  connected  by  the  great  bridge  with  those 
on  the  opposite  bank — the  hanging  gardens,  Nabu- 
Nahid's  royal  dwelling,  and  the  vast  hunting-park 
used  by  Belshazzar.  The  Street  of  Palaces  skirted 
this  park,  passed  the  portals  of  the  present  royal  palace, 
and  branched  off  to  the  west  end  of  the  great  bridge. 
Along  this  way  to-day  Belshazzar  guided  his  steeds 
at  break-neck  pace;  for  in  all  Chaldea  there  was  not 
such  another  horseman  as  he,  when  he  chose  to  ex 
ercise  his  skill;  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  there 
was  nothing  in  the  person  of  Amraphel  that  made 
Belshazzar  desirous  of  prolonging  their  drive  together. 


BELSHAZZAR  163 

The  priest  showed  neither  nervousness  nor  displeas 
ure  at  the  pace  set.  Through  all  the  jolting,  the  jar 
ring,  and  the  swift,  dangerous  curves,  he  maintained 
an  expressionless,  passive  demeanor.  It  was  only 
when,  with  a  wide  sweep,  the  vehicle  rounded  up  and 
the  quivering  steeds  came  to  a  halt  before  Nabu- 
Nahid's  gateway,  that  Amraphel,  alighting  first,  re 
marked,  ceremoniously : 

"Thine  are  goodly  horses,  Prince  Bel-shar-utsur. 
May  Raman  guard  them  that  -you  break  not  their 
breath  some  day  with  fast  running." 

"There  are  other  horses  to  be  bought  for  gold," 
was  the  brusque  answer,  as  Belshazzar  leaped  from 
the  chariot  and  signed  to  a  slave  to  lead  the  frothing 
animals  to  their  stables. 

Prince  and  priest  entered  the  palace  together;  but, 
once  across  the  outer  court-yard,  Belshazzar  left  his 
companion  to  be  announced  before  the  king,  while 
he  himself  retreated  to  his  own  apartments,  where 
many  hours'  labor  awaited  him.  Steward  and  chan 
cellor  sat  in  his  council-chamber  when  he  entered  it, 
and  he  greeted  them  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  was 
about  to  begin  work.  Yet  work  was  impossible  to-day 
to  him.  Treasury  and  grain  reports,  accounts  of  the 
crops  within  the  walls,  lists  of  taxes,  military  supplies, 
arrangements  of  reviews,  matters  of  pension  and  pro 
motion,  deeds  of  sale,  mortgages,  matters  of  trans 
port,  all  alike  were  impossible  to  be  considered.  That 
thing  which  was  haunting  him  would  not  go;  and, 
after  half  an  hour  of  wearisome  effort  to  concentrate 
his  mind  on  what  was  before  him,  he  suddenly  pushed 
away  all  the  clay  tablets  and  rolls  of  papyrus,  leaped  to 
his  feet,  and,  curtly  dismissing  the  officials,  himself  left 
the  room.  Passing  out  of  his  many  and  rather  forlorn 
apartments,  he  walked  aimlessly  out  across  the  wide, 
central  court-yard,  around  which  the  separate  portions 
of  the  palace  met,  and  went  through  a  small  gateway 
that  led  into  the  seraglio.  The  small  court,  off  which 


164  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

opened  various  sets,  of  rooms,  was  white  with  the  glare 
of  the  afternoon  sun.  Three  piles  of  scarlet  rugs,  an 
embroidery  frame,  and  a  broken  peacock-feather  fan, 
gave  evidence  of  the  feminine  character  of  the  inhab 
itants  of  the  court;  but  there  was  no  woman  here  at 
the  present  moment.  Huddled  in  the  shadow  of  the 
wall,  his  bronze  back  turned  upon  the  world,  lay  a 
child  of  three  or  four  years,  fast  asleeip.  Before  each 
of  the  several  door-ways  stood  a  cotton-clad  eunuch, 
palm-staff  in  hand,  rigid  and  sleepy.  These  inclined 
decorously  as  Belshazzar  swept  across  the  court,  and 
they  watched  him  from  under  their  e3^elids  as  he  halted 
near  the  great  entrance,  looking  thoughtfully  around. 
From  some  chamber  far  in  the  interior  came  the  dron 
ing  sound  of  a  dulcimer  and  the  crooning  of  a  woman's 
voice.  Other  than  this,  the  seraglio  was  still. 

Belshazzar  stood  apathetically  listening  to  the  song. 
Should  he  seek  out  the  singer?  After  a  moment's 
indecision,  and  a  step  or  two  in  the  direction  of  a 
small  door -way,  he  halted.  He  had  had  enough  of 
singing  for  one  day.  Yet,  till  the  day  was  cooler, 
time  must  be  passed  in  some  way.  He  might  go  to 
his  father  —  his  father  and  Amraphel,  who  were 
closeted  together.  His  father  and  Amraphel  —  clay 
and  a  sculptor;  soft  metal  and  a  hot  fire;  an  arrow 
and  the  bow.  Belshazzar  caught  at  his  idea,  never 
looked  again  at  the  court-yard,  but  turned  sharply  on 
his  heel  and  set  off  across  the  palace  for  his  father's 
favorite  lounging-room.  He  was  met  at  its  curtained 
door-way  by  Sha-Nana-Shi,  chief  eunuch  of  the  king's 
house,  wrho  regarded  the  advisability  of  an  intrusion 
by  the  prince  as  a  matter  of  doubtful  wisdom. 

"The  priest  of  Bel  is  within,  Lord  Belshazzar." 

"Who  else?" 

"Shula— " 

"The  architect?" 

"My  lord  speaks." 

"  Let  me  enter,  then.    Amraphel  is  dangerous,  I  say ! " 


BELSHAZZAR  165 

Nana,  his  duty  done,  stood  aside ;  and  Belshaz- 
zar,  unannounced,  strode  into  his  father's  place  of 
dreams. 

His  entrance  brought  with  it  sudden  silence.  The 
prince  felt  this  before  his  hand  had  dropped  the  cur 
tain.  He  looked  from  the  effeminate  figure  of  the 
king,  reclining  on  a  couch,  to  Amraphel,  who  stood 
stiffly  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  and  then  back 
to  little  Shula,  with  his  scrolls  of  papyrus  upon  the 
floor  before  him,  and  his  expression  apprehensive 
of  some  unexpected  disturbance.  Belshazzar,  in  his 
one  swift  glance,  read  the  drama,  smiled  inwardly, 
shrugged,  and  stepped  over  to  Nabonidus'  side. 

"My  coming  is  ill-timed,  lord  my  father?"  he  asked, 
in  a  gently  grieved  tone,  after  the  filial  obeisance. 

"No,  Belshazzar,  no,"  replied  his  father,  with  hasty 
courtesy.  "  I  rejoice  at  your  arrival.  You  may,  per 
haps,  show  us  the  way  out  of  our  discussion." 

"And  of  what  is  it  that  you  speak?" 

"The  great  temple  of  Ishtar,  in  Erech,  which  I,  at 
the  behest  and  for  the  love  of  the  gods  my  fathers, 
have  lately  restored.  Shula's  drawings  of  the  new 
building  are  here." 

Little  Shula 's  face  betrayed  wary  signs  of  enthu 
siasm.  Shula,  alone  with  his  master  the  king,  was 
an  inspiriting  sight;  for  the  one  was  no  less  ardent 
than  the  other  on  their  particular  hobby.  But  Shula 
with  Amraphel  on  the  one  hand,  Belshazzar  on  the 
other,  and  Nabonidus  in  the  background,  was  an  un 
happy  object.  The  high-priest  was  like  a  wedge  in 
serted  between  two  teeth;  himself  unfeeling,  impas 
sive,  unswerving,  he  possessed  the  unhappy  faculty  of 
causing  everybody  about  him  the  most  exquisite  dis 
comfort  by  the  mere  fact  of  his  presence.  From  be 
hind  the  drawings  that  had  been  presented  to  him  by 
Shula,  Belshazzar  looked  about  him.  The  constraint 
of  the  atmosphere  was  still  a  mystery. 

"So,"  he  said,  presently,  in  a  tone  of  slow  good- 


166  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

humor,  "  your  discussion  is  regarding  the  holy  temple 
of  Istar  of  Erech.  And  what  of  this  temple?" 

"My  Lord  Nabu-Nahid,  why  should  this  feeble 
matter  in  any  way  concern  the  prince  thy  son?  Has 
he  not  perplexities  enough  in  the  ruling  of  the  city — " 

"  Nay,  Amraphel,"  cut  in  Belshazzar,  hastily,  "  I 
am  here  because  of  my  idleness.  Here,  if  my  father 
says  me  not  nay,  I  will  stay,  and  listen  to  your  speech. 
What  speak  you  of?"  He  turned  again  to  his  father, 
as  the  high-priest,  with  an  angry  frown,  gave  up  the 
point. 

"Yes,  yes,  Belshazzar,  stay  and  tell  Amraphel  that 
the  goddess  Ishtar  must  not  be  removed  from  Baby 
lon  to  dwell  for  evermore  in  her  holy  house  at  Erech." 

Belshazzar's  head  swam ;  and  he  felt  a  pang  as  of 
a  stab  at  his  heart.  The  knowledge  that  Amraphel 's 
hawk-eyes  were  reading  him  like  a  bare  tablet,  en 
abled  him  to  straighten  up,  without  having  betrayed 
himself  utterly. 

"The  Lady  Istar  removed  from  Babylon?"  he  re 
peated. 

"  Listen,  Lord  Belshazzar,"  observed  Amraphel, 
smoothly.  "  The  primeval  seat  of  Belit  Ishtar  was, 
as  you  know,  in  the  ancient  city  of  Erech.  It  was 
from  there,  more  than  sixty  thousand  years  ago,* 
after  the  death  of  Izdubar,  that  her  worship  was  ex 
tended  to  all  Chaldea.  Now,  on  the  site  of  her  old 
and  ruined  temple,  your  father  has  caused  to  be  erected 
the  magnificent  building  of  which  the  plans  lie  yon 
der.  The  king,  out  of  the  goodness  of  his  heart,  is 
about  to  decree  a  great  religious  festival  in  honor  of 
the  goddess  and  the  opening  of  the  temple.  At  present 
the  rightful  inhabitant  of  that  temple  is  alive  in  Baby 
lonia.  How  displeasing  to  her  and  to  the  gods  her 
brothers  would  it  be,  if  her  temple  should  be  opened 
without  her!" 

*  According  to  the  calculations  of  Babylonish  historians. 


BELSHAZZAR  167 

Amraphel  finished  in  a  tone  of  quiet  authority  that 
was  peculiarly  irritating.  That  his  logic,  however, 
was  incontrovertible,  was  at  once  apparent  to  Bel- 
shazzar.  Again,  however,  Nabonidus  began  with  his 
plaintive,  unreasoning :  "  No,  no.  Babylon  shall  be 
protected.  Babylon  must  keep  her  goddess." 

Amraphel  shifted  his  weight  and  gave  the  faintest 
shrug  of  the  shoulders.  The  sheep -like  complaint 
must  run  its  course.  After  it,  a  victory  would  be  a 
simple  matter.  But  Belshazzar's  expression  was  not 
that  of  his  father.  Amraphel  regarded  it  uneasily. 
The  high-priest's  one  desire  was  to  get  Istar,  goddess 
or  demon,  whichever  she  might  be,  out  of  Babylon, 
where  her  hold  on  the  credulous  and  superstitious 
masses  was  something  against  which  the  priesthood 
could  not  contend.  And  this  desirable  end  might 
easily  have  been  arranged  with  Nabonidus  alone. 
Belshazzar's  entrance  at  this  particular  time  was  the 
most  unfortunate  thing  that  could  have  happened. 
Amraphel  had  some  faint,  hardly  defined  suspicion 
of  Belshazzar's  state  of  mind ;  and  he  was  instinc 
tively  aware  that  to  remove  Istar  from  Belshazzar's 
seat  of  government,  would  be  a  task  next  to  impossi 
ble.  Belshazzar,  after  a  few  moments  of  thought,  said, 
quietly : 

"  My  father,  Amraphel  of  Bel  is  right  inasmuch  as 
he  saith  that  Belit  Istar  should  go  down  into  Erech 
to  receive  worship  in  her  holy  temple.  Decree  the 
festival  in  honor  of  her  and  of  the  great  gods  her  broth 
ers;  and  let  her  be  in  Erech  for  that  time.  But  as 
the  goddess  of  Chaldoa  suffered  her  first  incarnation 
in  Erech,  and  there  dwelt  during  her  first  earth-life, 
so  now,  since  she  received  the  flesh  in  Babylon,  let 
her  also  dwell  here,  returning  hither  again  after  the 
opening  of  her  temple  in  the  ancient  city.  Is  it  not 
reasonable  that  it  should  be  so,  O  Amraphel?" 

"Truly,  truly,  Belshazzar,  thou  art  inspired  of  the 
gods!"  cried  Nabonidus,  delightedly,  from  his  couch. 


168  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Little  Shula  ventured  to  smile;  and  Amraphel  sig 
nalized  a  partial  defeat  by  seating  himself  in  an 
ivory  chair,  disdained  by  him  a  half -hour  before. 
Belshazzar  remained  standing.  He  felt  that  his 
point  was  won.  There  were,  indeed,  more  words  on 
both  sides,  but  nothing  further  was  gained  by  the 
priest.  The  festival  was  planned  for  the  following 
week;  and  it  was  decided  that  Istar,  the  king,  the 
prince,  and  many  of  the  priesthood,  should  descend 
the  river  in  the  state  barges  kept  ready  equipped 
and  frequently  used  by  the  king  and  the  official 
household.  At  Erech  itself  there  would  be  proces 
sions,  pageants,  sacrifices,  and  merry-makings  of 
every  description.  For  three  days  should  Istar  be 
installed  in  her  holy  house,  returning  afterwards  to 
Babylon  as  she  had  come.  To  this  plan  Amraphel 
was  obliged  to  submit;  for  if  the  force  of  logic  pitted 
against  him  was  as  strong  as  his  own,  and  the 
strength  of  will  were  as  great  again,  it  was  because 
Amraphel  was  laboring  through  hate,  while  Belshaz 
zar  worked  in  the  thrall  of  an  overweening,  hopeless, 
unconquerable  passion  that  meant  more  to  him  than 
his  religion,  and  against  which  none  could  have  con 
tended.  It  was  part  of  their  times,  probably,  that 
in  the  midst  of  the  dispute  it  should  not  once  occur 
to  any  of  the  three  that  Istar  herself  could  best  de 
cide  the  place  of  her  future  dwelling.  Goddess  though 
she  might  be,  her  gender  was  feminine ;  and  that  fact, 
in  this  oldest  of  Oriental  lands,  in  a  way  half  neu 
tralized  her  godhead. 

The  discussion  ended,  Nabonidus  waited  fretfully 
to  be  alone;  but  the  high-priest  still  lingered,  and 
Belshazzar,  as  Amraphel  very  well  knew,  remained 
for  the  purpose  of  watching  him  and  preventing  any 
attempted  influence  with  the  king.  It  was  not,  indeed, 
till  Nabu-Nahid  dismissed  Shula,  and,  rising,  an 
nounced  that  he  was  going  to  the  apartments  of  his 
low-born  queen,  that  Amraphel  took  an  obligatory 


BELSHAZZAR  169 

leave,  and  Belshazzar,  in  a  very  good  humor,  watched 
the  high-priest  drive  from  the  portals  of  the  palace  in 
his  own  chariot. 

By  now  the  sun  hung  low  in  the  heavens.  The 
heat  of  the  day  was  passed ;  and  the  prince,  dismiss 
ing  from  his  mind  all  further  thoughts  of  work,  com 
manded  his  chariot  again.  The  victory  of  the  after 
noon  had  almost  counterbalanced  the  hopeless  affair 
of  the  earlier  day;  and  it  was  in  a  careless  and 
light-hearted  mood  that  the  prince  royal  started  forth 
into  the  city,  chatting  as  he  went  with  Nebo-Ailu, 
and  showing  by  this  means  that  his  business  was 
unofficial. 

Their  way  led  once  more  into  the  A-Ibur,  down 
which  they  rattled  past  the  treasury,  the  granaries, 
the  house  of  Amraphel,  the  square  of  the  gods,  and 
finally  across  the  bridge  of  the  New  Year.  Here  they 
turned  off  to  drive  along  the  street  that  ran  by  the 
south  bank  of  the  canal,  till  they  drew  up  in  front  of 
the  palace  and  extensive  gardens  that  stood  almost  di 
rectly  opposite  the  tenement  of  Ut.  Here,  at  a  bound, 
Belshazzar  alighted,  dismissed  his  chariot,  and  turned 
to  the  resplendent  slave  who  hurried  out  to  meet  him. 

"Tell  Lord  Ribata  that  Bit  -  Shamash  —  nay,  lead 
me  rather  into  his  presence  without  announcement. 
I  can  speak  for  myself." 

The  servant  cringed  obediently,  and  led  the  way 
through  the  empty  court-yard  into  a  long  series  of 
dimly  lighted  and  sparsely  furnished  halls,  elabo 
rately  decorated,  but  as  cold  and  as  lifeless  as  un 
used  chambers  always  are.  From  these  they  pres 
ently  emerged  into  a  very  livable  apartment,  where, 
in  a  big  arm-chair,  in  front  of  a  narrow  table,  bend 
ing  over  a  heap  of  neatly  inscribed  tablets  which  he 
was  examining  with  the  aid  of  a  magnifying  -  glass, 
sat  the  master  of  the  house,  Ribata  Bit-Shumukin, 
one  of  the  most  important  and  one  of  the  youngest 
officials  in  the  kingdom.  His  back  was  to  the  door- 


iyo  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

way,  and  he  was  much  engrossed  in  his  task.  There 
fore  he  had  no  inkling  of  the  appearance  of  Belshaz- 
zar  till  it  was  announced  by  a  burst  of  hilarious  laugh 
ter,  and  the  words:  "Truly  here  is  an  example  for 
thy  prince!" 

Bit-Shumukin  started  up  and  wheeled  round.  Bel- 
shazzar's  laughter  seemed  to  be  catching,  for  Ribata, 
at  sight  of  his  friend's  face,  joined  in  his  merriment, 
and  the  two  laughed  together  till  the  solemn  secre 
taries  and  the  slave-porter  were  constrained  to  think 
the  heir-apparent  either  very  drunk  or  very  crazy. 

"How  art  th — thou  melancholy,  0  my  Ribata?  Is 
it  granaries  or  Elam  that  know  thy  labors  at  this  hour 
of  repose?"  gasped  Belshazzar,  when  their  mirth  had 
diminished  somewhat. 

"  Granaries,  my  prince.  But  if  I  labor  further  now, 
it  is  thou  that  shalt  be  blamed  for  it." 

"Never!  Dismiss  thy  sweating  secretaries  and  send 
them  to  their  play.  Then  thou  shalt  once  more  show 
me  Khamma,  if  thy  jealousy  hath  indeed  abated.  Let 
her  dance  for  us  to  the  strains  of  the  zither.  Let  us 
quaff  wines  of  Khilbum  and  of  Lebanon.  Let  us 
laugh,  and  make  joy  to  flow  about  us  like  rain  in 
Tabitu.  Yea!  Harken  unto  me,  for  I  speak  as  a 
prophet;  I  speak  as  the  mighty  prophet  of  my  father's 
father — what  was  his  name?  Bel — Bel — " 

"Belti-shar-utsur!" 

"Belti-shar-utsur!  That!  Without  the  ti  it  is 
mine  own.  Come  away,  Ribata,  from  this  den  of 
toil." 

Belshazzar's  flow  of  nonsense  ceased  as  suddenly 
as  it  had  begun,  and  the  last  phrase  was  spoken  rather 
impatiently.  Ribata  recognized  the  change  and  hast 
ily  obeyed  his  companion's  suggestion,  dismissing  his 
secretaries,  and  slipping  a  familiar  arm  through  that 
of  Belshazzar,  as  they  started  away  together  towrards 
the  women's  apartments.  Here  they  entered  a  small, 
empty  hall,  at  the  upper  end  of  which  was  a  raised 


BELSHAZZAR  171 

dai's  covered  with  rugs  and  cushions,  and  overhung 
by  a  purple  canopy.  Belshazzar  threw  himself  weari 
ly  down,  while  Ribata  sent  for  refreshment  of  cool 
wines  and  fruits,  for  slaves  with  fans  and  perfumes, 
and,  finally,  for  Khamma,  the  fairest  of  his  dancing- 
women. 

While  he  was  waiting  for  these  various  luxuries, 
Belshazzar  lay  back  upon  the  soft  resting-place  with 
an  air  of  intense  weariness.  His  evanescent  gayety 
had  gone,  and  he  was  bent  beneath  a  weight  of  un 
known  cares.  Ribata  understood  him  in  this  state  as 
well  as  in  the  other,  for  the  two  men  were  as  brothers 
— Bit-Shumukin  having  lived  all  his  life  under  the 
royal  protection.  Bit-Shamash  and  he  had  played 
together  as  children;  together  had  reached  the  period 
of  adolescence;  had  tasted  the  first  delights  of  young 
manhood,  entered  upon  a  career  of  the  wildest  dissi 
pation,  and  finally  settled  down  to  take  up  the  duties 
of  life,  still  in  each  other's  company,  still  holding  fast 
to  a  brotherhood  of  spirit  that  was  perhaps  the  most 
beautiful  thing  in  the  life  of  each.  Ribata  was  in 
no  way  possessed  of  the  remarkable  personal  beauty 
that  had  rendered  Belshazzar  famous — or,  some  said, 
infamous,  through  the  land.  Still,  in  his  way,  he  was 
a  handsome  fellow,  of  good  stature,  cleanly  built, 
with  refined  features,  a  merry  eye,  and  the  blackest 
possible  hair  and  beard.  His  wealth  was  great  and 
his  taste  highly  cultivated;  so  that  Belshazzar  had 
only  to  admire  whatever  he  might  find  in  the  house 
of  his  friend.  This,  a  few  weeks  past,  had  been  a 
fact  somewhat  unfortunate;  for  a  new  slave  of  Bit- 
Shumukin's  purchase,  Khamma  by  name,  a  dancing- 
girl  of  some  beauty,  had  appeared  before  the  prince, 
and  for  the  moment  caught  his  fancy.  The  girl  herself, 
being  called  to  him  and  receiving  a  word  or  two  and  a 
caress,  suddenly  fell  on  her  knees  before  her  master, 
and  pleaded  with  childish  tears  and  sobs  to  be  sold  to 
this  man  over  whose  wonderful  eyes  she  was  suddenly 


172  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

gone  desperate.  It  had  been  an  embarrassing  situa 
tion.  Belshazzar  knew  Ribata  to  be,  for  the  moment, 
enamoured  of  his  purchase;  and  he  escaped  her  ador 
ing  presence  as  adroitly  as  possible.  Yet  for  days 
thereafter  Khamma  had  chosen  to  weaken  her  eyes 
with  incessant  tears,  her  voice  with  moans  and  wails, 
and,  worst  of  all,  her  owner's  affection  by  her  exhibi 
tion  of  dislike  for  him.  The  result  was  that  Ribata's 
passion  cooled  as  rapidly  as  it  had  risen,  and,  a  day 
or  two  before,  he  had  actually  offered  her  to  Belshaz 
zar,  taking  care  to  warn  the  prince  that,  save  for  her 
dancing,  she  was  a  perfectly  useless  piece  of  household 
furniture.  Belshazzar  was  not  too  enthusiastic  over 
her,  but  consented  to  see  her  again,  and  hence  his 
visit  to-day.  But  now,  while  they  waited  her  com 
ing,  his  mind  was  anywhere  but  upon  her. 

Side  by  side  the  two  men  lay  back  on  their  cush 
ions.  The  perfumed  air  was  stirred  about  them  by 
the  huge,  slowly  moving  fans.  At  their  feet  stood  a 
bronze  pitcher  of  wine,  and  in  their  hands  were  chased 
silver  cups.  After  a  sleepy  pause  the  prince,  taking 
a  long  draught,  introduced  an  unlooked-for  topic. 

"  Beltishazzar,  Ribata,  the  prophet  of  Nebuchad 
rezzar — he  was  one  of  the  captives  of  Judea,  I  have 
heard." 

"Ay.     He  is  a  Jew." 

"Is!" 

"  It  is  so.  He  lives,  I  know  too  well  where.  Thou, 
also,  must  have  seen  him  many  times.  His  dwell 
ing  is  in  the  Jews'  quarter,  not  far  from  the  traders' 
square,  and  close  to  the  house  of  Egibi.  In  time,  my 
lord  prince,  upon  some  council  day,  I  shall  speak  to 
thee  concerning  the  race  of  this  Beltishazzar.  For 
the  last  two  years  I  have  watched  them,  and  I  find  them 
giving  promise  of  danger  to  the  state.  Beltishazzar 
himself,  he  whom  his  people  call  Daniel,  is  no  poor 
man;  but  he  goes  about  with  the  slinking  manner  of 
a  pauper,  ill-kempt,  unclean,  dirtily  dressed,  and  yet 


BELSHAZZAR  173 

— mark  it  well,  0  prince — he  is  not  seldom  seen  in 
the  company  of  temple  priests,  with  Amraphel  him 
self  sometimes,  and  with  Vul-Raman  of  Bit-Yakin." 

Ribata  paused,  noting  with  regret  that  he  had  brought 
a  frown  of  trouble  into  the  brow  of  Belshazzar,  and 
that  the  prince  was  slipping  away  from  the  present 
scene  of  enjoyment  to  a  realm  of  anxious  thought. 
"Priests!"  he  muttered,  half  to  himself.  "Priests 
again!  Priests  forever !  Priests!  I  tell  thee,  Ribata," 
and  his  voice  rose  high  with  anger — "  I  tell  thee  that 
should  Babylon  ever  fall  it  would  be  at  the  hand  of  a 
priest.  Their  power  is  mightier  than  that  of  the  throne. 
Everywhere  through  the  land  they — " 

He  broke  off  suddenly,  displeased  with  himself  for 
having  spoken  in  such  a  manner  here.  Two  eunuchs 
were  entering  from  the  lower  end  of  the  room,  and 
they  seated  themselves  on  either  side  of  the  door 
way,  with  zithers  on  their  knees.  Behind  them  ap 
peared  a  woman,  or,  more  properly,  a  girl,  lithe  and 
slender,  with  pretty,  vacant  face  and  floating  black  hair 
twisted  with  golden  ribbons.  Her  feet  were  sandalled 
in  red  and  gold.  Her  dress  was  of  flying,  yellow  gauze, 
with  a  girdle  of  crimson.  Scarlet  poppies  were  bound 
about  her  head,  and  a  crimson  scarf  was  in  her  hands. 
She  halted  in  the  door-way  with  an  air  of  grave  mod 
esty,  performed  a  humble  obeisance  before  the  two  men, 
never  lifting  her  eyes  to  the  face  of  either ;  and  then, 
as  the  zither-players  began  their  music,  she,  Khamma, 
began  the  dance.  Certainly  she  was  a  graceful  creat 
ure,  and,  in  her  dreamy  way,  possessed  of  a  perfect 
sense  of  rhythm.  Belshazzar  watched  her  with  half- 
closed  eyes.  Ribata's  attitude  was  that  of  polite  weari 
ness.  While  the  dance  progressed,  both  men  replen 
ished  their  wine -cups,  and  occasionally  addressed 
each  other  in  an  undertone.  Khamma  did  not  look 
at  them.  Nevertheless  her  whole  body  was  cold  with 
emotion,  and  as  she  continued  the  dance  she  trem 
bled,  and  her  very  teeth  chattered  with  terror  and 


174  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

delight  at  the  near  presence  of  Belshazzar.  Ordi 
narily  she  had  remarkable  powers  of  endurance,  and 
often  danced  for  half  an  hour  at  a  time  before  Ribata. 
But  to-day  was  different.  At  the  end  of  fifteen  minutes 
she  was  in  a  state  of  utter  exhaustion;  and,  as  the 
eunuchs,  noting  her  condition,  mercifully  began  their 
closing  harmonies,  she  advanced  up  the  room  to  the 
foot  of  the  dai's,  and  presently  sank,  half  swooning,  in 
the  last  prostration  before  her  master. 

Ribata  glanced  at  his  friend.  "Wilt  thou  have 
her?"  he  muttered,  too  softly  for  the  girl  to  hear. 

Belshazzar  considered,  and  a  different  expression 
came  over  his  face.  "  Nay,"  he  said. 

"What  sayest  thou!"  cried  Ribata,  in  astonish 
ment.  "Since  when  dost  thou  refuse  my  gifts?  Is 
she  so  unlovely?" 

At  this  last  phrase,  which  she  had  heard,  Kham- 
ma  looked  up,  straight  into  Belshazzar's  eyes.  In 
stantly  a  sharp  sigh,  like  a  groan,  escaped  her  lips, 
and  in  spite  of  himself  the  prince  softened. 

"  She  is  fair — enough.  Let  her  be  conveyed  to  my 
house.  Thy  gift  could  not  be  unwelcome,  Ribata, 
thou  knowest  it.  Accept  this,  my  brother,  in  place  of 
her." 

Belshazzar  took  from  his  shoulder  a  pin  of  beauti 
fully  wrought  gold  and  fastened  it  upon  his  friend's 
sleeve.  Ribata's  little  displeasure  was  dispelled,  and, 
after  returning  affectionate  thanks,  he  signalled  the 
eunuchs  to  come  forward  and  lead  the  girl  away.  Be 
fore  going  she  knelt  before  Belshazzar,  and  left  upon 
his  feet  the  hot  imprint  of  her  lips.  This  act  affect 
ed  the  recipient  in  a  curious  way.  His  color  suddenly 
fled.  The  storm-eyes  opened  wide,  and  flashed  with  a 
new  fire.  He  drew  a  gasping  breath,  and  then,  while 
his  face  grew  crimson,  the  veins  in  his  neck  and  in 
his  temples  swelled  out  in  bright,  purplish  blue.  His 
muscles  twitched  with  emotion.  Ribata,  watching 
him  with  a  smile  of  sympathy,  looked  to  see  his  com- 


BELSHAZZAR  175 

rade  rise  and  run  after  the  dancer.  But,  to  Bit-Shu- 
mukin's  vast  amazement,  he  perceived  that,  for  the 
first  time  in  all  his  life,  Belshazzar  was  fighting  fierce 
ly  with  himself.  The  animal  in  him  was  a  very  lion 
in  strength,  but  the  opposing  force  was  this  time 
stronger.  What  this  force  was  Ribata  had  yet  to 
learn.  Belshazzar,  tight-lipped,  lay  back  again  upon 
the  cushions,  his  two  fists  hard -clenched.  Ribata 
bent  over  him  and  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"What  is  this,  Belshazzar?"  he  asked,  softly. 

Belshazzar  looked  into  his  face  with  an  inscrutable 
smile.  "  It  is  Istar,  Ribata,  Istar  my  goddess."  Then, 
with  a  long-drawn  cry,  all  the  strange,  warped,  blas 
phemous  emotion  in  him  burst  forth:  "Istar!  Istar  1 
Istar!  Beloved!  Lift  me  up!  Make  me  divine,  or 
cause  my  mind  to  lose  the  thought  of  thee!  Istar! 
The  iron  sears  my  soul!" 

"Belshazzar!"  exclaimed  Ribata,  in  horror.  And 
then,  in  an  undertone,  he  muttered :  "  By  Nebo  and 
Bel,  our  sins  overtake  us!  He  is  going  mad!" 


THE    JEW 

ON  that  July  afternoon  Amraphcl,  the  high-priest, 
left  the  presence  of  the  king,  bearing  with  him 
not  only  the  discomfiture  of  a  defeat  at  the  hands  of 
Belshazzar.     He  had  lost  much  that  it  had  been  his 
hope  to  obtain,  but  he  had  also  gained  something  that 
might  prove  more  valuable  than  what  he  had  lost. 
Even  if  this  something  were  a  mere  suspicion,  un 
founded,  not  to  be  proved,  yet  it  was  what  might,  by 
adroit  management,  be  built  up  into  a  successful  ru 
mor  which,  spread  through  the  city,  would  form   the 
first  step  in  the  long  flight  from  the  top  of  which  Istar, 
now  the  greatest  menace  to  Amraphel's  power,  might 
some  day  be  hurled,  in  broken  radiance,  to  her  doom. 
Up  to  this  time,  for  hundreds,  perhaps  thousands- 
nay,  as  the  naive  Berossus  has  it,  hundreds  of  thou 
sands —  of   years,  the  Babylonians    had  worshipped, 
nominally,  their  gods  and  spirits :  virtually,  they  had 
bowed  before  the  priesthood  and  its  orders.     The  priests 
themselves,  knowing  no  gods,  had,  from  all  time,  held 
in  their  hands  unlimited  power.     For  many  centuries 
the  king  himself   had  been  a  pate\si  of    Anu — high- 
priest   of   the   sky -god.      Then,   when    the    temper? 
ruler  became  a  man  apart,  when  the  office  was  sec 
lar,  and  when   Babylon  had  writhed   under  the  If 
of  Nineveh,  the  people  had  always  their  religion.     1 
high -priest   and   his   seers   became  more   than    e 
absolute;  ruling  king  and  slave  by  means  of  unr 
soning  superstition;  while  in  the  houses  of  the 


THE    JEW  177 

hood  the  gods  were  regarded  as  an  amusing  myth. 
But  now — now — for  two  years  past,  all  Babylonia, 
from  Agade  to  the  gulf,  had  been  in  a  state  of  fever 
ish  religiosity,  for  the  reason  that  there  was  a  god 
dess  in  Babylon :  a  goddess — a  living,  baffling,  radiant 
presence,  whose  origin  none  knew.  Amraphel  was 
baffled  by  her  at  every  point;  but,  trained  from  his 
birth  up  to  a  creed  of  absolute  materialism,  he  still 
refused  to  believe  in  her  divinity,  because  he  had  lost 
the  power  to  rise  to  a  conception  of  divinity. 

To-day,  as  his  carriage  rolled  slowly  across  the 
great  bridge  to  the  east  side  of  the  city,  the  high-priest 
pondered  again  over  this  problem  of  problems,  though 
now  less  than  ever  seemed  there  any  way  of  solving  it. 
Down  the  Mutaqutu,  the  second  boulevard  of  Baby 
lon,  and  from  there  to  the  great  temple  of  Marduk,  the 
largest  building  in  the  city,  but  second  in  size  to  that 
of  Bel  in  Borsip,  he  went.  By  now  the  sacrifice  and 
heave-offerings  for  the  afternoon  would  be  ended,  but 
it  was  Amraphel's  self-appointed  task  daily  to  inspect 
the  temple,  the  shrine,  and  the  priests'  rooms,  before 
he  retired  to  the  college  of  Zicaru  for  the  evening  meal 
and  a  talk  with  his  under-priests. 

The  monster  temple  and  the  great  square  of  Marduk 

were  aglow  with  the  sunset  as  Amraphel's  chariot  drew 

rein  at  the  platform  steps.     The  old  man  alighted  with 

his  customary  assurance.     He  had   not   reached  the 

platform  itself  when  his  eye  was  caught  by  a  figure 

in   front   of   him   moving   slowly  towards   the  temple 

door.     It  was  a  lean  and  sorry  figure,  ill-clothed,  and 

hardly  clean :  that  of  a  man  hook  -  nosed  and  hawk- 

Ved,  who  leaned  wearily  on  his  staff  and  muttered  to 

»mself   as  he   went.     Him   Amraphel   overtook  and 

.liliarly  accosted. 

'Surely,  Daniel,  thou  goest  not  into  the  house  of  a 

Ise  god'?" 

The  Jew  turned  on  him  with  a  sour  smile.     "Yea, 
go  for  my  haunch  of  the  day's  heave-offering.     God 


178  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

pardons  a  poor  man  the  acceptance  of  unsanctified 
food/' 

"  A  poor  man — ay,  verily.  But  since  when  art  thou 
poor,  Jew?" 

Daniel  turned  an  ugly  look  upon  the  high-priest, 
who,  having  motives  for  policy,  suddenly  changed  his 
tone  and  said,  in  a  low  voice : 

"Come  thou  and  talk  with  me.  The  heave -offer 
ing,  or  something  better,  shall  be  sent  to  thine  abode. 
There  is  a  near  matter  that  waits  discussion." 

The  Jew  consented  silently  to  the  proposal  and  fol 
lowed  the  high-priest  into  the  temple,  across  its  vast 
hall,  and  back  into  one  of  the  small  rooms  used  only 
by  priests.  The  little  place  was  empty,  and  Amraphel 
seated  himself  in  it  with  an  affectation  of  feebleness. 
His  back  was  to  the  light,  and  he  motioned  his  com 
panion  to  a  seat  whereon  the  last  gleams  of  dying 
sunlight  would  fall  direct  from  the  small  window  be 
hind  the  priest.  Daniel  sat  down,  drew  his  garments 
together,  laid  his  staff  across  his  knees,  and  caused 
his  face  to  fall  into  an  expression  of  vacancy  that  be 
tokened  the  utmost  alertness  of  mind.  Amraphel  had, 
however,  not  the  least  intention  of  trying  deceit  with 
his  companion.  Rather,  he  was  about  to  risk  a  very 
daring  piece  of  frankness  upon  this  ruler  of  captive 
Judea. 

"Daniel,"  said  the  old  man,  speaking  in  Hebrew, 
"  you  have  told  me  that  your  people  worship  one  only 
God.  In  your  holy  scriptures  is  there  any  word  of 
another — a  goddess — that  is  divine?" 

"No!"  was  the  quick  answer. 

"Hast  thou — "  Amraphel  bent  towards  him — "hast 
thou  beheld,  closely,  her  whom  they  call  Istar?" 

"Yea." 

"Hast  thou  spoken  with  her?" 

"Perhaps." 

"  Nay,  be  not  cautious  with  me,  Jew.  I  speak  from 
my  heart.  I  ask  as  one  that  knows  nothing,  what  is 


THE   JEW  179 

the  idea  of  thy  mind  concerning  the  woman  that  dwells 
in  the  holy  temple  of  the  goddess?     Is  she  divine?" 

"Divine!     Say  rather  that  she  is  the  incarnation  of 
Satan!     Her  heart  is  full  of  evil." 

"Yet  you  see  in  her  a  .supernatural  power?" 
Amraphel  asked  the  question  with  unmistakable 
anxiety;  and  Daniel,  raising  his  eyes,  glanced  for  an 
instant  into  those  of  the  priest.  It  was  the  only  answer 
that  he  gave,  yet  it  was  the  one  that  Amraphel  had 
most  feared.  So,  then,  Daniel  himself  did  not  know 
the  secret  of  Istar's  existence.  It  was  well  enough  to 
call  her  an  incarnation  of  evil.  That,  according  to 
Amraphel's  way  of  thinking,  did  not  at  all  lessen  her 
power.  It  was  a  rather  discouraging  silence  that  fell 
between  the  two;  a  silence  that  Daniel  finally  broke. 
"Why,  0  Amraphel,  dost  thou  question  me  about 
the  woman  of  Babylon?  What  would  you  with  her?" 
The  high-priest  hesitated  for  a  bare  second.  Then 
he  answered,  openly:  "I  would  have  her  driven  from 
Babylon!  Driven  hence,  because  —  because  she  men 
aces  the  state.  Because  she  takes  our  power  from 
us.  Because  with  her  the  Elamite  may  find  himself 
powerless  against  the  city." 

Daniel  drew  a  sharp  breath.  "Cyrus,  too!" 
"Sh!  Be  silent!  That  name  spells  death.  But  con 
sider  what  I  have  said.  The  people  of  the  city  wor 
ship  their  '  goddess '  as  they  no  longer  worship  the 
great  gods  of  the  silver  sky.  Should  there  come  a 
time  when  Bel  and  Marduk  commanded  the  surren 
der  of  the  city  to  the  Elamite,  if  Istar  held  not  to  us, 
if  she  raised  her  voice  in  behalf  of  the  old  dynasty,  in 
behalf  of  the  tyrant,  then  indeed  our  lives  might  well 
be  forfeited.  For  when  she  commands,  the  people  obey. 
And  hark  you,  Daniel,  I  fear  that  Istar  of  Babylon 
will  not  have  the  blood  of  Belshazzar  redden  the  streets 
of  the  Great  City." 

"Nay;  for  she  loves  the  tyrant  Belshazzar  1" 

"Ah!    You  say  it!"    Amraphel,  in  high  excitement, 


l8o  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

half  rose  from  his  place.  Here  were  his  suspicions 
most  unexpectedly  confirmed. 

Daniel,  the  imprudent  words  having  escaped  him, 
sank  apathetically  back  in  his  place,  giving  the  high- 
priest  to  understand  by  his  attitude  that  nothing  fur 
ther  was  to  be  expected  from  him  on  that  subject.  And 
Amraphel  had  the  tact  to  waive  the  point.  He  felt 
it  to  be  too  broad  for  discussion;  for,  in  spite  of 
himself,  Istar  roused  in  him  unmistakable  feelings 
of  awe.  But  now  there  was  at  least  a  strong  bond 
of  sympathy  between  himself  and  Daniel.  Amraphel 
realized  that,  and  began  at  last  upon  the  real  object  of 
his  conversation — a  description  of  the  proposed  festi 
val  at  Erech,  the  three  days  that  Istar  was  to  spend 
in  that  holy  house. 

"And  why,"  queried  Daniel,  quietly,  "should  she 
not  remain  in  Erech,  the  seat  of  her  ancient  worship? 
Surely  that  were  well  for  all  Chaldea?" 

"  Ang ! — all  Chaldea — not  for  Belshazzar,  the  king's 
son,"  was  the  reply. 

Daniel  looked  at  his  companion  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye.  "If  they  were  but  married!"  he  muttered 
to  himself,  not  quite  daring  to  speak  the  words.  But 
aloud  he  said,  softly,  with  stress  on  every  syllable: 
"  Yet,  Amraphel,  if  Istar  of  Babylon  leaves  the  Great 
City,  who  is  there  to  say  that  she  shall  enter  it  again?" 

"None!  As  I  am  priest  of  Babylon,  there  is  none 
that  may  say  it!  Yet — yet — I  do  not  perhaps  under 
stand  thy  words." 

The  Jew  relapsed.     "I  said  nothing!"  he  replied. 

"Yea,  thou  saidst.  Say  again,  Jew,  how  shall 
Istar  not  return  again  into  the  Great  City?" 

Daniel  would  not  speak;  but  Amraphel,  perceiv 
ing  that  much  lay  behind  the  obstinacy,  tried  every 
means  in  his  power  to  open  the  mind  of  his  compan 
ion.  Finally  the  high-priest,  driven  to  bay,  took  the 
risk,  and,  bending  over  the  Jew,  said,  softly:  "There 
is  no  deed  that  could  be  called  by  the  name  of  just 


THE    JEW  181 

execution  that  I  would  not  see  performed — for  the  sake 
of  Babylon  and  that  captive  race  of  thine  that  longs 
for  liberty  again." 

Thereupon  Daniel,  straightening,  answered  and 
said :  "  God  is  not  flesh,  but  spirit.  I,  with  mine  eyes, 
have  perceived  that  Istar  of  Babylon  is  of  the  flesh. 
Therefore,  priest,  she  must  be  mortal,  and  subject,  as 
all  of  us,  to  death.  There  be  points  of  bronze  and 
of  iron  which,  piercing  the  bodv,  free  the  soul.  So 
Istar—" 

"Thou  hast  said  it!     It  shall  be!     When?    Where?" 

"It  should  be — thus."  Daniel  paused  for  a  moment, 
his  keen  face  working  with  his  thoughts  as  he  ar 
ranged  the  plan.  "  Belit  Istar,  the  king,  and  the  priests, 
descending  Euphrates  in  boats,  will  come  to  Erech  on 
the  evening  of  the  second  day.  Let  the  woman,  on 
that  night,  go  to  rest  in  the  sacred  precincts  of  the 
temple,  but  not  then  penetrate  to  the  sacred  shrine. 
On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  from  Babylon  all 
the  people  shall  be  assembled  in  the  great  hall  of 
the  temple  that  they  may  behold  their  goddess  as 
cend  into  the  shrine.  Let  her  enter  there  alone  for 
purification  and  for  communion  with  the  great  gods 
her  brothers.  And  look  you,  Amraphel,  if  she  come 
not  forth  alive  from  that  place  it  shall  be  for  a  sign 
that  she  was  not  divine,  but  an  evil  thing,  that  had 
indulged  in  unholy  mockery,  and  had  angered  the 
great  goddess  Istar  that  dwells  on  high  in  the  silver 
sky." 

Not  till  after  he  had  spoken  did  the  narrow  eyes  of 
the  Jew  meet  those  of  his  companion;  and  he  found 
Amraphel  regarding  him  with  grave  stolidity.  Such 
things  as  this  that  they  were  planning  were  in  no 
way  unheard-of  among  the  holy  orders;  for  the  goat 
skin,  had  it  taken  its  true  color,  would,  long  years 
ago,  have  been  dyed  crimson  with  the  blood  of  those 
slain  under  cover  of  its  power.  To  be  sure,  Daniel  did 
not  wear  this  badge  of  office,  and  he  proffered  wor- 


182  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

ship  only  to  the  God  of  Judea.  But  his  was  a  captive 
race;  and  just  at  present  his  position  was  gallingly 
unimportant.  Therefore  he  believed  that  there  were 
no  means  actually  unjustifiable  for  him  to  use  to  free 
himself  and  his  people  from  their  nominal  captivity. 
Amraphel's  next  question,  however,  brought  up  a 
new  train  of  thought. 

"And  who  is  to  perform  this  deed?     Thou,  Daniel?" 

"Nay!  Nay,  verily!"  Daniel  spoke  in  haste.  "Is 
it  not  written  in  the  laws  of  Moses,  'Thou  shalt  not 
kill'?  It  must  be  a  man  of  Babylon,  not  of  Judea, 
that  does  this  thing." 

"Then  shall  some  younger  member  of  the  priest 
hood  be  instructed  to  the  deed:  Vul- Raman,  of  the 
temple  of  Nebo ;  Siatu-Sin,  of  the  temple  of  Sin ;  Gula- 
Zir,  of  Bel  at  Borsip— 

"Rather,  Amraphel,  than  that  one  alone  should  be 
trusted  to  fulfil  the  difficult  command,  let  there  be 
three  concealed  within  the  shrine.  So  shall  they  gain 
courage,  each  from  his  fellow.  Then  there  could  be 
little  danger  of  cowardice  or  of  impiety." 

"Truly,  truly,  that  is  well  spoken.  There  shall 
be  the  three  of  them.  Now,  Istar  hath  not  yet  been 
told  of  the  approaching  journey.  I,  on  the  morrow, 
bear  the  word  of  it  to  her.  It  cannot  be  possible,  Bel- 
tishazzar,  that  from  any  source  she  could  hear  any 
thing  of  this  plan?  Surely  there  is  no  danger  that 
the  dagger  will  fail  to  pierce  her  flesh?" 

Daniel  grinned  evilly.  "  Ho,  Amraphel !  Thou  that 
believest  in  nothing!  Is  it  divinity  now  that  you 
attribute  to  the  woman?  And  where  is  divinity? 
Where  is  a  god?  Where  a  goddess?  Those  words 
are  foolish." 

"Time  runs  away.  I  must  depart,"  observed  the 
high-priest,  rising  hastily.  "I  go  for  the  evening 
meal  to  the  house  of  Zicaru.  There  also  will  be  Vul- 
Raman,  and  probably  the  others.  Will  you  come 
with  me?" 


THE   JEW  183 

Daniel  assented  eagerly.  It  was  not  his  idea  ever 
to  refuse  a  meal  which  would  cost  him  nothing.  More 
over,  he  was  well  known  to  the  members  of  most  re 
ligious  houses,  in  which  he  was  more  or  less  respected 
as  representing  the  great  colony  of  Jews  in  Babylon, 
whose  co-opejration  in  the  coming  revolution  was  a 
very  necessary  thing.  However  little,  then,  the  ex- 
prophet  might  be  personally  liked,  his  presence  com 
manded  a  respect  that  was  born  of  fear;  and  this, 
for  him,  in  whose  secret  heart  was  implanted  an 
implacable  hatred  for  the  race  that  held  him  and  his 
people  in  so-called  bondage,  was  enough. 

The  house  of  Zicaru  was  a  kind  of  monastic  insti 
tution  in  which  unordained  members  of  the  priesthood 
received  an  education,  and  where  all  the  various  under- 
priests  and  attendants  of  the  various  temples  might 
lodge  and  eat.  One  of  these  houses  was  supported 
by  nearly  every  temple  of  Babylon,  and  the  luxurious 
rooms  of  the  house  of  the  temple  of  Marduk  were  the 
resort  of  high-priests  and  elders  from  every  temple  in 
the  city.  As  institutions  of  learning,  the  monasteries 
were  celebrated ;  and  there  were  schools  attached  to 
them  for  the  instruction  of  the  laity  in  such  courses  of 
study  as  were  not  taught  in  the  market-place.  As 
tronomy,  algebra,  geometry,  astrology,  augury,  and 
many  languages — old  Accadian,  Aramaic,  Hebrew,  and 
Sanscrit  could  be  learned  there  from  the  most  effi 
cient  instructors  in  Chaldea.  Without  doubt  the  priest 
hood  of  Babylon  was  a  highly  intellectual  order,  and 
the  people  whom  they  ruled  were  ruled  intelligently. 

As  Amraphel  and  the  Jew  reached  their  destination, 
daylight  sank,  at  a  breath,  out  of  the  sky.  They 
found  the  world  within  at  supper.  The  high-priest 
was  greeted  by  a  general  rising,  and  the  chief  place 
at  the  head  of  the  table  was  vacated  for  him  by  Vul- 
Raman,  of  the  house  of  Yakin,  priest  of  Nebo  and  Ner- 
gal,  next  in  rank  to  Amraphel.  Vul-Raman  was  a 
far  younger  man  than  his  immediate  superior,  and 


184  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

his  face  was  pleasantly  expressive  and  unusually  ani 
mated  for  a  Babylonian,  who,  of  all  peoples,  were  the 
most  impassive. 

Amraphel  took  the  place  at  the  head  of  the  table 
with  accustomed  dignity,  while  Daniel  found  a  seat 
farther  down,  among  the  elders,  and  his  yellow  face 
lighted  with  pleasure  as  he  smelled  the  savory  odor  of 
roasted  meats  taken  from  the  day's  sacrifices.  No 
table  in  the  city,  barring  the  king's  own,  was  furnished 
so  lavishly  or  so  richly  as  this ;  for  the  rarest  offerings 
made  each  day  to  Father  Marduk  were  sent  to  this 
larder  at  sunset.  That  which  was  not  eaten  was  after 
wards  given  away  to  the  poor,  who  nightly  clustered 
about  the  gates  of  the  house,  giving  thanks  to  the 
gods  for  their  generosity. 

Amraphel  was  a  small  eater,  and  never  eager  for 
food.  To-night  his  beef  remained  before  him  un- 
tasted.  His  bread  was  unbroken,  and  the  barley  paste 
grew  stiff  and  cold  as  he  sat  drinking  cup  after  cup 
of  the  wine  of  Lebanon,  talking  with  those  around  him, 
using  eyes  and  brain  keenly  as  he  watched  the  right 
moment  at  which  to  speak.  Vul-Raman  and  Siatu- 
Sin  were  side  by  side  upon  his  left;  while,  as  fortune 
arranged  it,  Gula-Zir  was  next  but  one  upon  his  right, 
having  come  in  from  Borsippa  for  the  night. 

Amraphel  knew  that  every  man  at  that  table  was 
at  his  command,  unquestioningly,  day  or  night.  None 
would  dare  dispute  his  word;  none  dare  even  to  ask 
his  motive  for  a  deed.  Nevertheless  he  carefully  bided 
his  time,  waiting  till  the  moment  when  that  that  he 
had  to  propose  might  seem  not  only  possible  to  do, 
but,  in  the  interest  of  their  creed,  the  most  desirable  of 
all  deeds.  The  time  arrived.  Vul-Raman  had  happily 
made  reference  to  a  somewhat  similar  affair  of  many 
months  before,  the  results  of  which  had  been  beyond 
question  beneficial  —  from  the  priestly  point  of  view. 
Amraphel  took  the  last  words  out  of  the  other's  mouth, 
turned  them  to  unique  account,  and  in  less  than  five 


THE  JEW  185 

minutes  had  laid  bare  to  his  companions  the  skeleton 
of  his  design.  It  was  done  so  deftly,  so  lucidly,  and 
withal  so  delicately,  that  Vul- Raman  could  not  but 
regard  his  superior  with  envious  admiration.  The 
whole  arrangement  of  the  murder  was  planned  by 
suggestion.  Not  once  was  an  imperative  used.  Yet 
the  man  of  simplest  mind  could  not  have  failed  to 
see  what  was  to  be  done,  how,  and  by  whom.  Am- 
raphel  concluded  more  boldly  with  a  phantasy  of  the 
deed: 

"  I  can  see  the  great  and  holy  temple,  and  the  many 
hundreds  that  stand  within,  waiting  the  coming  of 
Belit  Istar.  I  see  the  steps  ascending  to  the  holy  shrine 
all  carpeted  with  stiff  gold.  At  last  I  behold  her  com 
ing  radiantly  into  the  dusky  temple-room.  Her  tresses 
float  lightly  behind  her ;  her  tresses,  like  spun  silk,  hang 
as  a  veil  about  her  shoulders.  Falsely  now  she  moves 
between  the  rows  of  kneeling  men  and  women.  Falsely 
she  glides  up  the  holy  steps,  and,  profaning  all  holi 
ness,  draws  aside  the  curtain  of  the  sanctuary  and 
enters  alone  into  the  little  room.  The  curtain  falls 
again,  concealing  her  from  the  watching  eyes.  Silent 
ly  and  swiftly  do  the  faithful  of  the  great  gods  steal 
behind,  seizing  her  about  the  throat,  with  firm  hands 
stifling  her  cries  of  terror.  Before  her  stands  her  judge. 
The  instrument  of  his  justice  is  in  his  hand.  Well  he 
wields  it.  Three  times  it  strikes  swiftly  to  the  heart  of 
the  woman.  The  silent  body  is  left  in  the  shrine.  Only 
the  false  soul  wails  its  way  into  the  dismal  land  of 
Ninkigal.  The  judges,  high  in  favor  with  the  gods, 
depart  even  as  they  came,  by  the  statue  -  door  in  the 
back  of  the  shrine.  In  high  heaven  the  true  Istar 
sings  for  joy.  Crowns  and  much  wealth  she  gives 
to  those  that  have  served  her.  And  now,  down  the 
golden  carpet  that  covers  the  steps  leading  up  to 
the  high  place,  flows  a  long  thread  of  crawling  crim 
son,  which,  with  its  brightness,  shall  speak  to  the 
people  of  the  mortality  of  her  whom  falsely  they  wor- 


186  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

shipped.     Belit  Istar  shall  be  discovered  to  them  as  a 
woman." 

These  artistic  and  well-chosen  words  of  the  high- 
priest  were  greeted  by  all  those  around  him  with  mental 
applause.  The  three  men  detailed  for  the  work  eager 
ly  accepted  their  task,  and  were  enviously  regarded  by 
their  companions;  for  would  not  the  true  Istar,  doubt 
less  in  the  person  of  Amraphel  himself,  reward  them 
with  "crowns  and  much  gold"?  Ah!  In  the  days 
of  the  great  gods  how  might  a  prince  have  envied  his 
priest ! 

At  the  end  of  the  meal,  details  of  the  forthcoming  mur 
der  were  discussed  by  Amraphel  and  the  three  priests 
in  a  room  apart.  After  everything  was  properly  un 
derstood  Amraphel  quietly  left  the  house,  and,  once 
more  mounting  his  chariot,  made  his  way  homeward 
through  the  long,  dark  streets.  His  mind  was  at 
peace.  The  defeat  at  Belshazzar's  hands  of  the  ear 
ly  afternoon,  had  merely  necessitated  another  battle, 
in  which,  this  time,  victory  to  the  other  side  was  an 
assured  thing.  There  would  be  little  fighting  about 
it.  The  disposition  of  forces  was  the  simplest  in  the 
world.  There  remained  only  two  things  to  do.  A 
vast  celebration  must  be  decreed,  through  Nabu-Nahid, 
for  all  Babylonia;  and,  more  delicate  task,  Istar  her 
self  must  be  persuaded  into  taking  an  interested  part 
in  the  festival.  This  last  thing  could  best  be  done 
by  himself.  And  in  order  to  prepare  himself  as  ade 
quately  as  possible  for  the  coming  interview  with  the 
goddess  in  her  own  temple,  Amraphel  betook  himself 
at  this  early  hour  to  his  couch,  and  shortly  after  lying 
down,  mind  and  body  alike  being  at  rest,  the  aged  and 
reverent  man  sank  serenely  to  sleep. 

Unique  as  was  Istar's  outer  life,  splendid  as  were 
her  surroundings,  awful  and  holy  the  places  in  which 
her  time  was  passed,  yet  to  an  ordinary  person  her 
existence  would  have  been  intolerable.  Her  absolute 


THE    JEW  187 

isolation  was  something  that  those  who  regarded  her 
from  the  outside  never  considered.  To  them  she  was 
above  all  ordinary  things.  She  was  part  of  many  a 
pageant,  a  dazzling  vision  to  be  looked  upon,  stared 
at,  frequently  prayed  to  in  various  affected  ways,  but 
in  the  end  treated  as  something  inhuman,  some  one 
far  from  real  life,  the  real  world,  real  feelings  of  joy 
and  of  sorrow.  Gradually  she  had  grown  accustomed 
to  her  vast  solitude.  Her  loneliness  was  uncomplain 
ing;  but  her  days  were  interminably,  cruelly  long. 
This  was  one  reason  why,  when  Lord  Amraphel  asked 
audience  of  her  on  the  morning  after  the  breaking  of 
Charmides'  lyre,  she  joyfully  granted  the  request. 

Istar  lay  upon  a  pile  of  rugs  in  the  prettiest  interior 
court  of  her  dwelling  behind  the  temple,  listening  to 
the  distant  droning  of  a  flageolet  that  came  from  a 
narrow  street  behind  the  temple  platform.  The  rays 
of  her  aureole  had  been  very  iaint;  but,  as  Amraphel 
was  announced  to  her,  her  veil  of  light  quickened  into 
new  life,  and  the  vibrations  pulsated  rapidly,  as  if  to 
protect  her  from  close  contact  with  some  dangerous 
force.  The  high -priest  was  ushered  into  the  divine 
presence  preceded  by  four  eunuchs  and  followed  by 
two  black  pages.  Three  times  he  prostrated  himself 
before  her,  with  every  mark  of  humility  and  reverence. 
After  the  third  obeisance  Istar  commanded  a  chair  to 
be  brought  for  the  old  man,  and  bade  him  be  seated  in 
her  presence.  Amraphel,  however,  with  a  sudden,  in 
explicable  qualm,  refused  the  honor. 

"Belit  Istar,"  he  began,  after  a  prolonged  silence 
which  Istar  had  not  thought  of  breaking,  "for  two 
years  now,  ever  since  the  miracle  of  the  incarnation, 
you  have  dwelt  secluded  in  the  Great  City.  Here  all 
men  have  worshipped  you  in  awe  and  in  love.  But 
now,  from  that  city  in  which  your  first  earth-life  was 
lived,  where,  in  the  early  dawn  of  Chaldean  history, 
you  and  your  bright  Tammuz  and  the  mighty  Izdubar 
dwelt  together,  your  people  cry  aloud  to  you  again. 


i88  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

By  the  benevolent  generosity  of  Nabu-Nahid,  their 
king,  the  men  of  Erech  have  raised  a  new  and  mighty 
temple  in  your  honor,  have  called  it  by  your  name, 
and  they  pray,  through  my  mouth,  that  you  will  go 
down  into  Erech  and  will  with  your  divine  presence 
consecrate  the  far-famed  holy  house  in  which  hence 
forth,  in  all  honor  and  glory,  you  will  dwell.  This, 
to-day,  is  my  mission  to  you,  Lady  of  Heaven.  May 
my  words  find  favor  in  your  ears!" 

While  he  spoke  to  her  Istar  had  watched  the  man 
with  troubled  eyes.  Something  in  his  way  of  speak 
ing  moved  her  to  distrust  and  to  unhappiness.  When 
he  had  finished  the  trouble  lay  in  her  heart,  and  she 
rebelled  inwardly  against  him.  But  when  she  spoke, 
it  was  but  to  ask,  quietly : 

"The  people  of  Erech  pray  me  to  go  down  among 
them.  When  would  they  have  me  come,  and  how?" 

"Eight  days  hence  they  wish  to  consecrate  to  you 
their  new  temple.  You,  the  king,  the  king's  son,  the 
priests,  your  own  attendants,  and  many  lords  and 
slaves  of  the  royal  houses,  will  journey  in  barges  down 
the  great  river.  It  will  be  two  days  before  Erech  can 
be  reached;  but  entertainment  will  be  provided  by  the 
way  for  you  and  for  the  king  and  the  king's  son. 
Musicians,  dancers,  and  singers  shall  show  their  skill 
before  you.  Canopies  will  shade  you  from  the  fierce 
fires  of  Shamash.  Cool  wines  and  fruits  and  grains, 
with  the  flesh  of  cows,  will  be  provided  for  your  sus 
tenance.  Through  the  journey,  Lady  of  Heaven,  you 
shall  know  no  want." 

"  And  at  the  journey's  end  I  shall  behold  the  tem 
ple?" 

"Not  on  the  first  night.  At  sunset  of  the  second 
day's  journey  the  sacred  city  will  rise  up  before  you; 
and  all  night  there  will  be  feasting  and  rejoicing.  You 
will  be  housed  as  fittingly  as  mortal  men  can  make 
your  lodging,  in  the  long  rooms  behind  the  temple. 
Far  more  spacious  are  they  than  these.  Here,  in 


THE   JEW  189 

communion  with  the  gods  your  brothers,  the  night 
will  quickly  pass  away ;  and  when  the  morning  dawns, 
and  many  people  fill  the  temple,  then  you  shall  enter 
among  them,  and  shall  pass  up  the  steps  of  the  sacred 
shrine  and  shall  enter  into  the  high  place,  where  puri 
fying  water  will  be  placed  in  the  deep.  When  this 
water  is  blessed  at  your  hands  it  will  be  carried  down 
among  those  in  the  temple  and  sprinkled  over  them, 
and  thereby  great  miracles  will  be  performed.  Then, 
when  you  sit  in  the  mercy-seat  and  receive  the  holy 
prayers  of  the  people,  giving  them  leave  to  address 
you  and  worship  your  holy  name,  all  lower  Babylo 
nia  will  fall  upon  its  knees  before  you,  will  proffer 
sacrifice,  and  hold  in  highest  honor  you  that  are  come 
to  dwell  among  them.  Yea,  and  the  city  of  Erech 
shall  be  forever  holy  among  cities.  0  goddess,  may 
my  words  find  favor  in  your  ears!" 

Istar  listened  to  these  words  as  to  the  others,  quiet 
ly,  but  with  a  distrust  that  she  would  have  been  un 
able  to  explain.  When  the  high-priest  ceased  to  speak 
she  let  the  silence  remain  unbroken  for  some  min 
utes.  Finally,  rising  up  before  him,  she  replied,  more 
dogmatically  than  she  had  ever  spoken  to  any  one: 

"I,  0  Amraphel,  will  go  down  into  Erech,  and 
there  will  I  consecrate,  as  much  as  in  my  power  it  lies, 
this  newly  erected  temple.  I  will  listen  there  to  the 
prayers  of  the  people,  and  will  answer  them  if  I  may. 
Yea,  for  three  days  I  will  take  up  my  abode  in  the  city 
of  Erech.  But  longer  than  that  I  will  not  tarry.  Baby 
lon  is  the  seat  of  my  dwelling;  and  in  Babylon  I  will 
fulfil  my  time.  Moreover,  let  not  the  festival  be  or 
dered  till  two  more  Sabbatu  be  passed.  Then  shall 
the  barges  at  the  great  bridge  be  made  ready,  and 
the  king,  and  the  king's  son,  and  the  priests,  and 
lords,  and  slaves  may  assemble  there  on  the  twentieth 
day  of  this  month  of  Ab.  Lo,  I  have  spoken." 

Amraphel  made  no  protest.  Once  again  he  pros 
trated  himself  before  her,  in  token  of  obedience  to  her 


190  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

will.  Then,  for  a  moment,  he  made  an  effort  to  scan 
her  face.  But  the  light  flowed  round  about  it  so  that 
he  could  perceive  nothing.  Presently  there  came  over 
him  a  sudden  rush  of  dread  lest  she  should  read  the 
thoughts  in  his  heart.  Yet  as  his  hands  touched  the 
hem  of  her  garment  she  did  not  shrink  from  him ;  and, 
as  he  turned  to  leave  her,  she  looked  upon  him  with 
kindly  eyes.  He  left  her  presence  with  perplexity 
and  doubt  in  his  mind;  though  how  it  had  entered  in 
he  could  not  have  told.  Was  Istar  human?  Could 
she  be  divine?  As  the  old  man  drove  rapidly  away 
down  the  A-Ibur-Sabu,  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  firm, 
material  beliefs  of  fifty  years  were  swept  from  his 
mind,  and  he  was  left  again  as  a  child  before  whom 
the  world  and  its  inscrutable  mysteries  are  opening 
for  the  first  time. 

When  the  high-priest  was  gone,  Istar  rose  from  the 
rugs  upon  which  she  had  sunk  back  for  the  moment, 
and  began  to  move  slowly  up  and  down  the  sunlit 
court.  As  she  went  the  rays  of  her  aureole  grew  dim, 
till  the  embroidery  of  her  purple  robe  could  be  distin 
guished,  and  her  hair  glistened  only  under  the  beams 
of  the  sun.  And  Istar's  thoughts,  like  her  steps,  were 
slow.  She  would  neither  define  nor  analyze  them. 
Only,  being  as  ever  alone,  she  murmured  them  aloud 
to  herself;  and  it  was  as  well,  perhaps,  that  no  one 
was  at  hand  to  hear  her,  as  she  said,  softly  : 

"The  king  will  go — and  the  king's  son!  Twelve 
days — and  then — Belshazzar,  the — king's — son." 


VI 
ISTAR    OF    ERECH 

EARLY  on  the  morning  of  July  2oth,  half  Babylon 
assembled  at  the  great  bridge  that  connected 
the  king's  road  with  the  Mutaqutu.  Floating  on  the 
water,  beneath  the  bridge  and  along  the  west  bank, 
were  the  twenty  magnificent  barges  destined  to  bear 
a  divine  and  royal  company  down  the  well -flowing 
river  to  the  ancient  city  of  Erech.  It  was  not  many 
hours  after  dawn  that  the  start  was  to  be  made. 
Istar,  driven  in  her  flaming  car,  arrived  in  good  time, 
but  too  late  to  see  the  parting  between  Amraphel, 
who  could  not  leave  Babylon,  and  his  three  trusty 
priests,  Vul-Raman  of  Bit-Yakin,  Siatu-Sin  and  Gula- 
Zir,  priest  of  Father  Bel  in  Borsip.  Their  barge  had 
been  placed  farthest  from  that  of  Istar,  for  the  pur 
pose  of  attracting  as  little  notice  as  possible.  Their 
words  with  their  master  were  not  many,  but  they  were 
well  chosen.  Vul-Raman  was  smiling  grimly  as  he 
moved  to  his  place.  The  other  two  were  serious,  a 
little  pale,  perhaps ;  but  in  neither  heart  was  there  any 
thought  of  drawing  back  from  the  purpose. 

Istar  was  in  her  place  before  the  royal  party  arrived : 
Nabu-Nahid  in  one  chariot,  Belshazzar  with  Ribata  in 
another,  and  behind  them  a  long  line  of  lords,  coun 
cillors,  judges,  and  members  of  their  households.  As 
the  prince  stepped  from  his  vehicle  to  the  embank 
ment,  Istar  caught  sight  of  him.  At  the  same  in 
stant  his  eyes,  moving  hurriedly  over  the  scene  as  if 
in  search  of  something,  encountered  hers.  A  quiver 


192  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

passed  through  each  of  them,  and  which  was  most 
affected  it  would  be  difficult  to  say. 

In  the  general  melee  of  embarkation  that  followed, 
Belshazzar  and  his  party  managed  to  obtain  the  barge 
to  the  right  of  that  on  which  Istar  lay.  Nabonidus 
and  his  officials  were  on  the  left ;  and  after  them  formed 
the  lines  of  other  boats,  three  abreast.  When  every 
one  was  safely  in  his  appointed  place,  and  the  fast 
enings  had  been  cut,  Istar's  boatmen  raised  a  long, 
quavering  cry,  that  resolved  into  the  first  notes  of  a 
song.  In  this  the  men  of  every  boat  joined;  and  by 
the  time  the  first  phrase  was  at  an  end,  the  long,  thick- 
bladed  oars  were  moving  regularly  through  the  water, 
and  the  brilliant  pageant  was  moving  down  the  an 
cient  stream. 

To  Istar  the  hours  of  this,  her  first  day's  journey, 
were  long  dreams  of  pleasure.  She  had  known  noth 
ing  of  the  course  of  this  river  after  it  left  the  confin 
ing -banks  of  the  city,  through  which  it  flowed  darkly, 
rapidly,  unbeautifully.  Now  the  freedom  of  its  wind 
ing  course,  the  native  life,  and  the  richness  of  verdure 
along  its  banks,  the  mighty  palm  -  forests,  the  long 
stretches  of  grain  -  fields,  the  picturesque  irrigators 
at  which  men  were  continually  at  work,  the  droves 
of  cattle  and  water-buffalo  on  the  banks,  the  troops 
of  cranes,  pelicans,  and  flamingos  in  the  water  itself, 
the  very  warmth,  the  singing  of  the  hurrying  river, 
and  the  mournful  answers  of  the  boatmen,  brought 
to  her  such  a  novel  sense  of  joy  and  content  as  she 
had  never  before  known.  If  men  loved  life  as  she 
did  for  this  moment — then  she  had  already  discov 
ered  the  secret  of  the  Great  Master.  It  was  freedom 
— freedom  to  roam  at  will  through  the  fair  world,  with 
no  tie  to  bind  one  to  any  spot — the  whole  world  one's 
home,  one's  delight. 

This  day,  with  all  its  varied  beauty,  ended  at  last — 
melted  away  through  the  short,  purple  twilight  into  a 
starry  night.  The  songs  of  the  rowers  died.  The  river 


ISTAR    OF    ERECH  193 

was  very  still.  Those  in  the  boats  dropped  away  to 
sleep,  one  by  one.  Only  Istar  lay  through  the  velvet 
hours  open-eyed,  trying  to  fathom  the  depths  of  this  de 
light  of  hers — the  delight  that  in  some  way  had  not  all 
to  do  with  the  day  and  the  scenery.  She  seemed  now 
to  have  entered  into  life.  Till  to-day  she  had  been  so 
protected,  so  hedged  about  with  ceremonial  and  form, 
so  hindered  by  her  supposed  divinity,  that  now,  in  this 
first  flush  of  her  freedom,  there  rose  again  from  her 
heart  that  deep  cry  for  mortality  that  should  bring  her 
true  knowledge  as  to  the  falseness  or  truth  of  the  new 
found  joy.  She  had  hoped  for  Allaraine  to  come  to 
her  that  night;  but  the  hours  wore  away,  and  when 
false  dawn  foreshadowed  the  morning  he  had  failed 
her'  for  the  first  time  since  her  incarnation.  There 
was  a  little  sadness  over  this;  but  it  was  forgotten, 
presently,  in  the  general  stir  of  waking,  of  eating,  and 
of  greeting  the  exquisite  first  moments  of  the  day. 

Just  as  the  barges  started  at  full  speed  again 
after  the  long  night  of  drifting,  there  came  an  inci 
dent  that  changed  the  aspect  of  the  second  day  from 
dreamy  content  to  uneasy,  troublous  delight.  One  of 
Istar 's  fan -slaves,  whose  duty  it  was  to  waft  before 
her  one  of  the  long  -  handled,  peacock  -  feather  fans, 
had  disappeared  in  the  night,  no  one  knew  whither 
or  why.  Nothing  was  said  to  Istar  about  it.  Some 
one  had  taken  the  slave's  place.  Her  fans  were  wav 
ing  as  usual.  It  was  an  hour  before  some  slight 
awkwardness  in  the  manipulation  of  the  implement 
caused  her  to  glance  up  at  the  wielder  of  it.  Instantly 
a  sharp  cry  escaped  her  lips.  It  was  Belshazzar  who 
was  playing  the  slave.  Instantly  she  bade  him  cease 
the  work  and  return  to  his  barge.  This,  stubbornly 
enough,  he  refused  to  do;  and  the  matter  was  finally 
ended  by  a  eunuch  taking  his  place,  while  he  lay  down 
at  the  prow  of  Istar 's  boat,  with  his  face  turned  tow 
ards  the  goddess,  who  reclined  uneasily  on  her  cush 
ions,  seeking  to  avoid  his  glance,  but  returning  to  it 


ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

again  and  yet  again,  perhaps  not  wholly  against  her 
will. 

As  Amraphel  had  foretold,  the  city  of  Erech  ap 
peared  to  them  like  a  shadow  through  the  twilight  of 
the  second  day,  rising,  many-towered,  from  the  east 
bank  of  the  river.  Darkness  had  come  on  before  a 
landing  was  made.  Great  bonfires  had  been  lighted  all 
along  the  banks  of  the  river ;  and  thousands  of  people 
stood  thronged  together  in  their  flaring  light,  waiting 
to  welcome  their  goddess  and  their  king.  Lusu-ana- 
Nuri,  the  governor  of  the  city,  with  his  lords  and  judges, 
stood  at  the  landing-stage.  Istar,  supported  on  the 
one  side  by  Vul-Raman,  on  the  other  by  Siatu-Sin, 
waited  till  the  prostrations  of  the  governor  were  at  an 
end,  and  then  mounted  the  magnificent  car  prepared 
for  her,  on  which  she  was  drawn  slowly  between  end 
less  lines  of  kneeling  and  awe-struck  citizens  to  her 
new  abode,  the  vast  temple  of  Istar  of  Erech,  rebuilt 
by  Nabonidus  on  the  site  of  that  ancient  one  that  her 
prototype  was  said  to  have  inhabited  thousands  of 
years  before. 

On  the  temple  platform,  back  of  the  great  ziggurat, 
was  the  third  building — the  dwelling-house  of  the  liv 
ing  goddess ;  a  palace  of  a  hundred  rooms,  pricelessly 
furnished  and  decorated.  Hither,  alone  in  her  car, 
Istar  was  driven.  It  had  been  arranged  that  the 
king  and  all  of  his  accompanying  suite,  together 
with  Prince  Belshazzar,  should  proceed  with  the  gov 
ernor  to  his  palace,  where  a  huge  feast  had  been 
prepared.  The  goddess  herself,  it  had  been  thought, 
would  prefer  to  pass  this  night  in  communion  with  her 
heavenly  brothers,  in  preparation  for  the  ceremony 
of  the  morrow.  At  the  entrance  of  her  new  abode 
she  was  received  by  a  large  company  of  eunuch  priests, 
and  of  female  Ukhatu  and  Kharimatu,  together  with 
veiled  nuns,  prophetesses,  and  dartcing-women.  By 
these  she  was  surrounded,  and  reverently  conveyed 
to  an  inner  room,  where  was  spread  a  savory  repast. 


ISTAR    OF    ERECH  195 

Of  this  she  partook  in  solitude,  to  the  mournful  sounds 
of  flutes,  lyres,  and  cymbals  playing  a  slow,  rhythmical 
dance,  to  which  two  maidens  postured  before  her.  It 
was  a  lonely  and  a  dreary  meal — one  such  as  she  had 
been  long  accustomed  to,  but  which  these  two  short 
days  on  the  river,  where  there  had  been  many  people, 
and  laughter  and  gay  singing,  had  rendered  more  dis 
tasteful  than  ever  before.  Having  eaten  a  little,  Istar 
requested  that  she  be  conveyed  to  her  sleeping-room 
and  there  left  alone;  for  the  strange  faces  and  awed 
behavior  of  those  about  her  rendered  her  more  forlorn 
than  she  would  have  been  in  entire  solitude. 

The  sleeping-chamber  was  a  long,  narrow  hall — 
the  usual  shape  of  Babylonian  and  Assyrian  rooms. 
At  one  end  of  it,  on  a  raised  dai's,  was  a  couch  of  ivory 
and  beaten  silver,  piled  high  with  rugs  and  cushions 
of  the  most  costly  materials.  The  walls  and  the  nar 
row  door-way  were  hung  with  rich  embroideries  of  a 
deep,  purplish-blue  color.  The  tiled  floor  was  strewn 
with  rugs  and  skins,  and  the  whole  room  was  dim 
ly  lighted  with  swinging -lamps  of  wrought  bronze. 
Chairs  of  ebony,  teak-wood,  and  ivory,  with  tables  of 
the  same  materials,  were  placed  about  the  apartment. 
High  in  the  wall  at  the  lower  end  was  a  little,  square 
window  through  which  might  be  seen  a  single  brilliant 
star. 

Istar  looked  around  her  with  pleasure.  Two  at 
tendants  remained  at  her  side  till  a  eunuch  slave  had 
brought  in  a  silver  tray  containing  a  jar  of  rare  wine 
with  a  golden  drinking  -  cup.  This  he  placed  on  a 
table  near  the  couch.  Then  all  three  of  them,  obedient 
to  her  command,  departed,  after  a  series  of  the  tiresome 
prostrations  that  were  a  continual  weariness  to  her. 

And  now,  at  last,  she  was  quite  alone  again — alone 
with  the  night,  with  the  great  silence,  with  the  dimly 
burning  lamps,  and  with  the  awe-inspiring  hush  that 
had  settled  over  her.  She  seated  herself  upon  a  low 
chair  and  folded  her  hands  upon  her  knees.  The  pres- 


196  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

ence  of  God  was  distinguishable  in  the  room.  All 
thought  of  the  day  that  had  just  passed  was  gone  from 
Istar  now.  She  felt  a  sense  of  the  vastness  of  time, 
and  of  the  immateriality  of  all  things.  She  seemed 
to  be  alone  in  a  great  void,  a  void  filled  by  the  incom 
prehensible  power  of  the  universal  master.  Her  own 
thoughts  frightened  her.  Her  breath  came  more 
slowly.  For  a  little  time  it  seemed  to  her  that  to-night 
she  was  to  return  into  her  former  state.  Whether 
she  welcomed  the  end  with  joy  or  with  sorrow  she 
could  not  have  told.  But  the  end  was  not  yet  come. 
How  long  it  was  before  she  was  restored  to  herself  by 
the  appearance  of  the  rosy  cloud  of  Allaraine  she  did 
not  know.  The  strains  of  music  from  his  lyre  came 
faintly  to  her  ears,  as  from  an  immense  distance. 
The  mist  and  its  well-known  nucleus  were  there  with 
her.  Yet  now,  and  for  the  second  time,  that  nucleus 
did  not  take  on  its  proper  shape ;  was  not  formulated. 
Allaraine  was  striving  vainly  to  come  to  her.  Con 
sidering  the  great  spirituality  of  her  mood,  this  was 
doubly  strange.  Istar  looked  into  the  cloud  with  eyes 
that  spoke  her  fear.  The  music  itself  melted — slowly 
died  away.  The  cloud  grew  paler  and  more  mistlike. 
Quietly  Istar  rose,  and,  with  mental  insistence,  held 
out  her  arms.  There  was  one  last  burst  of  chords — 
chords  that  fell  as  from  a  great  height  in  organ- tones 
as  dim  and  beautiful  as  the  evening  wind.  The  single 
phrase  struck  home  to  her  heart;  it  was  a  phrase  of 
sorrow,  of  warning,  of  preparation  for  coming  evil;  a 
phrase  that  spoke,  as  a  voice  speaks,  of  suffering. 
Then,  once  again,  there  was  silence;  a  silence  as  op 
pressive  as  heat.  The  window  was  clear  again,  and 
through  it  the  star  could  be  seen.  The  odor  of  sandal- 
wood  was  strong  in  the  room. 

Istar  lay  back  in  her  broad  chair.  The  memory  of 
her  old  life  grew  faint.  Babylon  lay  leagues  to  the 
north,  and  she  was  no  longer  part  of  it.  The  history 
of  the  ancient  and  sacred  city  in  which  this,  her  temple- 


ISTAR    OF    ERECH  197 

dwelling,  stood,  the  shadow}''  legends  that  clung  about 
its  crumbling  and  honored  walls,  presented  themselves 
vividly  to  her  mental  vision.  She  seemed  now  to  be  a 
part  of  the  spirit  of  that  other  Istar,  the  Love-goddess, 
who,  in  her  great  incarnation,  had  loved  and  married 
the  warm  and  exquisite  Spring,  the  Tammuz  of  pres 
ent-day  festivals,  who  had  appeared  in  human  form 
then,  when  the  world  was  younger  and  more  fair. 
And  she  knew  also  with  what  vehemence  that  Istar 
had  loved  the  great  hero,  the  slayer  of  lions,  the  man 
of  wisdom  and  strength,  Izdubar,  who  had  sought 
her  out  for  aid  in  battle  when  the  power  of  his  good 
genius,  Ea-Bani,  failed  him.  And  that  Istar  of  old 
had  not  failed.  As  she  thought  of  the  two,  and 
how  Istar  the  Love  -  goddess  had  become  the  woman 
of  war,  the  lady  of  Arbela,  the  mind  of  this  other  of 
divine  race  was  filled  indiscriminately  with  the  soft 
murmurings  of  spring  and  the  martial  clang  of 
arms.  '  Happy,  indeed,  had  been  that  Istar  of  old ;  for 
she  had  loved,  and  had  protected  whom  she  loved, 
fearing  none,  obeying  no  power  higher  than  herself. 
But  now — if  the  people  of  the  city  were  seeking  such 
another  as  she  had  been,  they  must  wail  at  last  in 
their  disappointment.  Neither  Tammuz  nor  Izdu 
bar — neither  beauty  nor  strength — had  come  to  her 
to  love  her;  nor  could  she  have  given  all  that  her 
predecessor  knew  so  well  how  to  give.  Love!  What 
was  it?  Vague  imaginings  flitted  through  the  Narah- 
mouna's  mind.  She  paused,  in  thinking,  to  hearken 
to  the  silence.  A  city  of  sleep  lay  about  her  on  every 
hand.  Stirred  any  creature  there  through  the  night? 
Her  head  drooped  upon  her  knee.  She  listened  to 
the  throbbing  of  the  stillness.  Yea,  some  one  besides 
herself  was  awake  with  the  darkness.  She  could 
distinguish  soft  footsteps  near  her  door.  Some  slave, 
no  doubt,  was  going  to  a  vigil  in  the  temple. 
Silence  again.  The  steps  had  not  died  away,  but 
seemed  suddenly  to  stop  near  by  her  very  portal. 


198  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Istar  listened  again,  but  still  did  not  lift  her  head. 
She  knew  that  the  curtain  overhanging  the  door-way 
was  being  pushed  aside.  There  was  some  one  else 
in  the  room  with  her.  She  felt  the  presence,  and 
her  heart  ceased  to  beat.  Yet  it  was  not  fear  that 
sent  the  blood  to  her  heart.  Only  when  the  some 
one  was  very  near,  when  the  fold  of  a  flowing  mantle 
touched  her  shoulder,  did  she  finally  lift  her  bowed 
head  and  look.  At  the  same  instant,  before  she  could 
rise  up,  half  in  terror,  half  in  joy,  the  man  sank 
abjectly  at  her  feet.  A  white,  fearful,  half -daring 
face  was  lifted  up  to  her.  A  pair  of  haunted  storm- 
eyes  caught  and  held  her  look.  A  moving,  nerveless 
hand  clutched  the  hem  of  her  garment. 

Istar  hardly  breathed.  It  was  all  too  vague,  too 
dreamlike,  too  impossible,  for  her  to  realize  what  had 
happened.  She  was  without  fear,  yet  she  shook  like 
an  aspen.  She  let  her  eyes  answer  that  other  look. 
Then,  from  the  gaze,  something  was  born  within 
her.  Something  choked  her.  She  gasped  for  breath. 
Finally,  with  a  sudden  cry  of  terror,  she  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  rose  unsteadily  to  her  feet. 

Belshazzar  did  not  stir;  neither  did  he  take  his 
eyes  from  her  as  she  moved  across  the  room.  His 
heart  was  pounding  furiously  against  his  side,  and 
his  head  swam  with  the  power  of  the  emotion  that 
had  driven  him  in  this  way  to  her  presence.  A 
wonderful  thing  passed  before  his  eyes.  That  veil 
of  light,  that  had  held  the  goddess  safe  in  its  protec 
tive  depths  since  her  incarnation,  was  almost  gone. 
It  had  been  rent  and  torn  from  her  by  the  force  of 
the  change  within  her;  and  now  it  hung  around  her 
form  in  thin,  glittering  shreds  that  melted  away  like 
hoar-frost  in  the  sunlight.  At  last  he  saw  uncon 
cealed  what  that  had  so  long  unbearably  tantalized 
him:  that  which,  hitherto,  had  only  revealed  itself 
to  him  by  accident,  a  line,  a  single  curve  accentu 
ated  by  a  gesture,  at  a  time.  Now,  all  at  once,  it  was 


ISTAR    OF    ERECH  199 

before  him  quite  visible  —  the  delicate,  fragile  form 
of  a  perfect  woman,  clad  in  clinging  draperies  of  pur 
ple  embroidered  in  silver,  sandalled  in  silver,  the 
head  uncrowned,  the  waves  of  silken,  black  hair  falling 
unbound  behind  her. 

She  had  stood  at  the  far  end  of  the  room,  statue- 
like,  for  a  long  time,  before  he  came  back  to  himself, 
before  he  realized  how  he  lay.  Then,  in  some  way,  he 
got  to  his  feet  and  went  to  her ;  carefully  by  instinct ; 
repressing  himself  at  every  step.  She  knew  that  he 
came,  yet  did  not  seem  to  shrink.  Before  he  reached 
her  side,  however,  he  broke  the  silence  between  them, 
saying,  huskily: 

"  Istar — do  you  bid  me  go?" 

She  did  not  at  once  reply,  though  he  did  not  know 
whether  or  not  she  meditated  over  her  answer.  While 
she  still  paused,  the  eyes  of  the  prince  dilated  with 
anxiety.  Finally  came  the  reply  in  a  whisper  so  low 
that  it  was  a  miracle  he  heard  it:  "Not  Istar  of 
Arbela;  Istar  of  Erech,  I.  Go — if  thou  wilt — " 

In  another  instant  Belshazzar  was  upon  her,  had 
taken  her  into  his  heroic  arms,  was  drowning  her 
cries  of  amazement  in  the  passionate  torrent  of  his 
emotion;  and  for  a  little  she  was  still,  while  wonder 
took  full  possession  of  her.  Then  there  came  from 
her  lips  one  cry  that  would  not  be  silenced — a  cry  that 
rang  through  the  room  and  passed  out  of  the  win 
dow,  winging  its  way  upward  to  high  heaven :  a  cry 
of  momentary  anguish,  of  something  forever  lost,  of 
something  also  gained.  It  was  no  more  the  voice  of 
the  Being  Divine.  It  was  that  of  a  woman. 

Hearing  it,  involuntarily,  Belshazzar  drew  back 
from  her,  smitten  with  a  kind  of  terror  at  what  he  must 
have  done.  She  was  there,  wide-eyed  and  shivering, 
before  him.  The  last  shred  of  her  aureole  was  gone. 
She  sobbed.  Her  eyes  had  become  blindly  bright, 
and  presently  overflowed.  In  that  first  moment  of 
humanity  she  wept.  It  was  her  destiny.  Something 


200  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

more  she  did  also.  In  her  weakness,  in  her  great 
solitude,  she  did  what  women  will.  All  alone  in  a 
strange  world,  unsheltered,  unprotected,  amazed  and 
confused  by  the  great  tumult  raging  within  her,  she 
turned  to  him  who  stood  before  her,  the  embodiment 
of  human  strength  and  beauty,  and  to  him  she  held 
out  her  arms. 

Belshazzar  went  to  her,  not  fiercely  now,  but  rever 
ently,  almost  as  much  amazed  as  she  herself  at  this 
more  than  fulfilment  of  the  dream  that  he  had  so  long 
and  so  blasphemously  cherished.  Holding  her  again 
close  in  his  arms,  his  senses  reeled  under  the  human 
warmth  of  her  body.  Bending  his  dark  head  over 
hers  he  whispered  to  her,  in  such  a  tone  as  he  had 
never  used  before,  those  words  that  make  the  world 
immortal : 

"Istar!  Oh,  my  beloved!  I  love  thee!" 
One  of  her  arms  crept  fearfully  round  his  neck,  and 
the  -tears  from  her  eyes  fell  upon  his  cheeks,  and  he 
understood  that  she  answered  him.  Knowing  not 
what  else  was  left  for  her,  she  clung  to  him  the  more 
closely  as  he  lifted  her  slender  body  and  carried  her 
up  to  the  dai's  at  the  far  end  of  the  room.  And  so 
through  the  night,  while  the  lamps  burned  low,  and 
the  white  star  sank  from  sight,  for  those  two,  through 
the  wisdom  of  God,  time  ceased,  and  their  souls  were 
mingled  with  eternity.  And  over  them,  though  neither 
of  them  saw,  in  answer  to  the  mortal  cry  of  their  one 
time  sister,  archetype  on  archetype  descended  from 
the  height  to  watch  over  the  place  where  Istar  had 
become  a  woman. 

Night,  the  enchanted  night,  the  twenty  -  second  of 
the  burning  midsummer  month,  hung  heavily  through 
the  great  spaces  of  the  temple  of  Istar.  Silence,  far- 
reaching  and  luminous,  spread  within  from  the  open 
portals,  past  the  altar  and  the  deep  and  the  sacred 
recording-stone,  to  the  foot  of  the  first  of  the  steps  that 


ISTAR    OF    ERECH  201 

led  up  to  the  curtained  door  of  the  sanctuary,  within 
which  the  sanctification  of  the  temple  was  to  take 
place  in  the  morning.  The  east  was  still  black  when 
the  first  dim  figures,  forerunners  of  the  vast  crowds 
that  by  sunrise  would  fill  the  temple  to  overflowing, 
passed  the  bronze  gates  and  took  their  places  at  the 
foot  of  the  sanctuary  steps. 

White  dawn  entered,  mistlike,  through  the  portals 
of  the  high  house,  and  the  nwriad  temple  lights  that 
had  pierced  the  night  with  their  tiny  points  of  flame 
grew  very  dim ;  and  when  at  last  the  sun  sent  his  first 
scarlet  and  golden  messengers  up  the  eastern  sky  to 
announce  his  coming,  these  lights  came  to  resemble 
mere  reflections  of  the  burnished  brass  and  beaten 
gold  that  covered  the  temple  walls.  By  now  there 
was  an  immense  throng  inside,  and  moment  by  mo 
ment  it  was  augmented;  for  all  Erech,  and  all  the 
country-side  for  miles  around,  was  making  its  way  to 
this  place.  Finally  the  long-awaited  Shamash  leaped 
into  the  sky,  holding  before  him  his  shield  of  glory, 
sending  a  great  shaft  of  light  into  this  dwelling-place 
of  his  sister  Istar.  A  murmur  of  prayers  for  the 
morning  rose  up  through  the  lofty  spaces  of  the  tem 
ple-roof,  and  the  silence  that  followed  these  was  in 
tense  with  expectation ;  for  now,  at  any  moment,  their 
goddess  might  come  to  them. 

Within  the  sanctuary  everything  had  long  since 
been  prepared.  During  the  night  several  priestesses 
of  Istar  had  kept  a  vigil  there,  offering  up  continuous 
prayers  before  the  stone  pedestal  on  which,  in  any 
other  temple,  the  statue  of  the  goddess  would  have 
stood.  Water,  over  which  one  hundred  charms  and 
incantations  had  been  said,  filled  the  purifying  basin. 
The  place  was  sweet  with  the  odor  of  spices,  and  its 
air  hung  hazy  with  incense.  Beside  the  broad  basin, 
upon  a  table  plated  with  gold,  stood  a  flask  of  per 
fumed  oil,  treasured  for  many  years  for  use  upon  some 
such  holy  occasion  as  this.  The  little,  windowless 


202  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

room  was  lighted  by  a  swinging  -  lamp  of  exquisite 
workmanship,  kept  burning  night  and  day  in  the 
perpetual  gloom.  In  this  place  the  consecrated  hiero- 
dules  had  held  their  prayerful  watch  through  the 
long  night  of  the  passion;  and  at  dawn  they  left  it 
empty,  to  await  the  coming  of  its  divine  occupant. 
Five  minutes  after  the  departure  of  the  veiled  wom 
en,  however,  the  sanctuary  was  invaded  by  three 
persons  who  bore  no  resemblance  to  gods.  Vul-Ra- 
man  and  his  two  companions,  their  priests'  dresses 
covered  with  long  cloaks  of  sombre  hue,  glided 
in  through  the  concealed  door  behind  the  pedestal. 
The  three  of  them  were  pale  and  rather  anxious-eyed 
as  they  took  up  the  positions  suggested  by  Amraphel. 
Vul-Raman,  only,  carried  a  weapon:  the  same  thin- 
bladed,  delicate  knife  that  he  had  used  on  more  than  one 
occasion  similar  to  this.  Twice  he  ran  his  ringer  care 
fully  along  the  edge  of  the  blade,  and  the  last  time  his 
.skin  was  neatly  slit  by  the  metal.  Satisfied  with  the 
trial,  he  slipped  the  little  instrument  under  his  cloak 
again,  and  then  the  long,  nervous  vigil  of  the  mur 
derers  began. 

By  the  time  the  sun  was  half  an  hour  high,  the  crowd 
outside  the  temple  had  become  restless,  and  the  close- 
packed  rows  of  men  and  women  were  as  impatient  as 
they  dared  to  be.  No  one  of  any  importance  had  yet 
made  an  appearance.  Surely  the  king,  the  prince,  the 
governor,  and  their  attendant  lords  should  be  here 
by  this  time.  Would  Istar  come  if  they  still  delayed? 
Would  that  she  might!  And  then,  the  mention  of 
Istar  again  bringing  up  the  most  absorbing  of  all  topics, 
every  man  and  his  neighbor  fell  to  talking  of  how  he 
had  seen  her  on  the  previous  evening  on  her  way  from 
the  river  to  her  temple ;  and  on  every  hand  were  heard 
descriptions  of  her  wonderful  and  unearthly  presence. 
That  baffling  radiance  that  flowed  about  her  was  the 
veil  of  Sin,  her  father.  It  proclaimed  her  divinity  as 
nothing  else  could  have  proclaimed  it.  Heretofore 


ISTAR    OF    ERECH  203 

there  had  been  not  a  little  scepticism  over  the  exag 
gerated  reports  brought  down  from  Babylon  during 
the  two  past  years;  but  there  was  no  scepticism  in 
Erech  to-day.  Goddess  she  assuredly  was;  and  as 
a  goddess  she  should  dwell  in  the  heavenly  house 
they  had  built  for  her,  on  ground  consecrated  to  her 
many  thousands  of  years  ago. 

At  last,  from  the  street  leading  up  to  the  temple, 
came  a  blare  of  trumpets  and  a  clangor  of  cymbals, 
and  a  shiver  of  excitement  overran  the  people  when 
they  realized  the  approach  of  the  king  and  his  royal 
train.  Four  ushers  with  lily-topped  wands  forced  a 
passage  through  the  crowd,  and  finally  entered  the 
temple  itself,  wrhere  the  making  of  an  aisle  was  no 
easy  task. 

Amid  tumultuous  shouts  the  lordly  company  left 
their  chariots,  and  passed  in  processional  line,  between 
the  people,  clear  to  the  foot  of  the  sanctuary  steps. 
Gentle-faced  Nabonidus,  arm-in-arm  with  the  governor 
of  the  city,  came  first ;  and  the  throng  made  reverent 
way  for  them.  Belshazzar,  pale-faced  and  utterly 
overwrought,  physically  exhausted,  mentally  appre 
hensive,  followed  his  father,  walking  alone.  The 
people  looked  after  him  curiously  as  he  passed,  and 
many  were  the  whispers  to  the  effect  that  the  prince- 
royal  was  a  wild  and  dissolute  fellow.  After  these 
three  notables  came  the  lords,  judges,  and  councillors, 
Ribata  among  them,  more  puzzled  than  he  would  have 
acknowledged  at  his  friend's  too  apparent  state  of 
mind.  This  entire  company  found  places  immediately 
at  the  foot  of  the  sanctuary  steps.  Nabonidus  and 
his  son  faced  each  other,  standing  the  one  on  the  left, 
the  other  on  the  right  hand  of  the  spot  where  Istar  must 
pause  ere  she  went  up  into  the  high  place.  Both  king 
and  prince  were  in  priest's  dress — white  muslin,  goat 
skin,  and  golden  girdles,  with  anklets  and  bracelets  of 
gold,  and  feather  tiaras  set  in  wrought  gold.  Seeing 
this  garb,  a  few  among  the  people  chanced  to  remem- 


204  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

her  the  three  Babylonish  priests  that  had  come  down 
the  river  with  the  king.  But  there  was  no  one  that 
knew  where  they  might  be,  and  none  cared  enough 
to  press  an  inquiry. 

Now,  certainly,  Istar  was  late.  The  people  were 
tired  and  impatient,  and  there  were  not  a  few  who, 
having  waited  here  since  dawn,  complained  bitterly  of 
the  divine  tardiness.  But  there  was  only  one  person 
in  that  throng  that  suffered  both  physically  and  men 
tally  with  suspense.  This  was  he  who,  one  hour 
before,  had  left  Istar's  side;  he  who  now  stood,  ghast 
ly  pale,  heavy-eyed,  and  nerveless  with  anxiety,  at 
the  sanctuary  steps.  Could  she  come  here  this  morn 
ing?  Would  she  come?  And  how  would  the  ordeal 
affect  her?  It  seemed  almost  impossible  that  she  could 
go  through  with  it,  overwrought  as  she  was.  Yet 
what  would  be  the  result  with  the  people  did  she  fail 
them? 

Ah!  What  was  that?  The  minor  cadences  of  the 
chant  of  priestesses  were  to  be  heard  outside  the  tem 
ple.  She  was  coming  then.  She  was  here! 

At  the  door  of  the  temple  stood  a  large  company 
of  yellow-robed  women,  half  of  them  veiled,  half  of 
them  with  their  faces  bare.  In  their  midst,  as  yet 
invisible  to  the  people,  was  Istar.  Still,  they  recog 
nized  her  presence,  and  there  was  a  sudden,  vast  rus 
tling,  as  all  that  immense  throng,  with  one  impulse, 
sank  to  their  knees  there  in  the  sacred  hall.  After 
a  momentary  pause  on  the  threshold  the  ranks  of 
the  women  parted,  and  Istar  came  forth  alone. 

Clothed  like  the  sun  she  was,  in  tissue  upon  tissue 
of  woven  gold,  that  shimmered  with  a  thousand  rays. 
Her  hair  was  crowned  with  gold,  incrusted  with  deep- 
hued  beryls,  and  from  the  back  of  the  diadem  floated  a 
gold-wrought  veil,  beneath  which  lay  her  lustrous  hair, 
a  dark,  silken  mass.  Dazzled  at  first  by  her  shimmer 
ing  garments,  it  was  not  till  the  second  moment  that 
the  ten  thousand  eyes  sought  her  face.  Then  —  it 


ISTAR    OF    ERECH  205 

seemed  to  Belshazzar  that  he  could  feel  the  change 
in  the  multitude.  Goddess? — That? — That  pale-faced, 
wide-eyed  woman?  Nay!  And  yet — she  was  beautiful. 
She  was  so  beautiful  in  her  unveiled  pallor  that  she 
might  well  have  been  looked  on  as  something  more 
than  human.  There  was  no  radiant  aureole  of  divinity 
around  her  now.  Perhaps  that  had  been  a  twilight 
dream.  And,  the  first  shock  of  disappointment  over, 
most  of  the  people  would  have  worshipped  her  still. 
Men's  eyes  followed  her  with  inexpressible  wonderment 
as,  inch  by  inch,  she  moved  up  the  aisle.  What  agony 
that  passage  was  to  her  even  Belshazzar  could  not  know. 
She  was  barely  conscious  as  she  neared  the  steps ;  for 
it  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  ever  really  wralked. 

To  Istar's  eyes  the  temple  was  dim.  The  murmur 
of  whispers  reached  her  as  from  a  great  distance.  She 
realized  vaguely  what  she  was  expected  to  do,  while 
her  eyes  were  riveted  on  one  thing,  and  her  soul  was 
striving  to  leave  her  body  that  it  might  reach  the  sooner 
that  which  she  loved.  In  the  first  instant  of  her  mor 
tality  Belshazzar's  image  had  been  stamped  indelibly 
upon  her  heart  and  in  her  brain.  And  now  that  he 
himself  was  there  before  her,  she  felt  only  that  she 
must  get  to  him.  She  cared  to  go  no  further. 

The  long  distance  was  traversed  at  last.  She  stood 
at  the  foot  of  the  sanctuary  steps,  Belshazzar  close 
upon  her  right  hand,  the  king  upon  her  left,  all  the 
mass  of  people  behind  her.  She  must  go  up,  she  must 
mount  up  into  the  space  that  for  a  moment  seemed 
to  stretch  out  before  her  like  the  spaces  of  heaven — 
vast,  limitless,  infinite.  She  placed  her  foot  upon 
the  first  step,  hesitated  for  an  instant,  shivered  with 
cold,  then,  with  a  mighty  effort,  lifted  herself  up  and 
stopped.  Perhaps  it  was  well  that  at  this  moment 
neither  Vul-Raman  above  nor  the  crowd  below  could 
see  her  face.  It  bore  an  expression  of  fear,  of  horror, 
such  as  cannot  be  pictured  by  human  imagination. 
Still  she  ascended  one  more  step,  and  none  could  have 


206  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

realized  the  heroism  that  carried  her  there.  Could  she 
go  on?  Must  she?  Suddenly  a  great  cry  burst  from 
her.  Her  face  became  livid.  Her  teeth  chattered, 
and  her  hands  worked  nervelessly.  She  was  forbidden 
to  progress.  There,  towering  above  her  in  menacing 
wrath,  was  a  throng  of  shadowy  things,  of  huge  wings, 
of  heavenly  forms,  just  discernible  to  her  eyes,  invisi 
ble  to  all  others.  The  archetypes  of  heaven  were  be 
fore  her,  barring  her  way,  crying  her  fall  to  her,  driv 
ing  her  back  from  the  high  place  to  which  no  mortal 
might  attain.  One  gesture  she  made — lifted  both  arms 
to  them  in  pitiable  pleading.  Then,  with  a  fainter 
cry,  she  reeled  and  fell,  backward  and  down,  and, 
while  the  mighty  vision  faded  from  her  mortal  eyes, 
Belshazzar  caught  her  lifeless  body  in  his  arms.  As 
he  did  so  there  came  an  uproar  from  every  side  of  the 
temple:  vague,  indeterminate,  angry  murmurs,  pres 
ently  silent  before  one  trumpet-voice,  bolder  than  the 
rest,  that  voiced  the  feeling  of  the  men  of  Erech.  This 
cry  was  taken  up  and  repeated,  and  cried  again,  till 
the  temple-roof  quivered  with  it,  and  the  stoutest  of 
hearts  quailed  before  its  wrath : 

" This  is  a  woman !  A  woman!  It  is  a  woman!" 
Belshazzar,  with  lion  mien,  and  storm -eyes  blaz 
ing  with  fury,  faced  them  all  with  his  burden  in  his 
arms;  and,  angry  and  disgusted  as  they  were  at  the 
great  deceit,  not  a  hand  was  lifted  against  this  prince 
of  their  blood  who  espoused  the  cause  of  the  false 
woman,  the  pretender.  As  he  bore  her  from  them 
out  of  the  temple,  there  was  none  to  notice  the  parting 
of  the  sanctuary  curtains;  none  to  perceive  the  pale, 
peering  face  of  Vul-Raman  of  Bit-Yakin,  whose  glit 
tering  knife  was  cold  with  desire  for  human  blood. 
The  priest  stared  fearfully  upon  the  general  tumult; 
for  of  all  that  company  he  was  now  the  only  one  that 
believed  in  the  divinity  of  Istar  of  Babylon.  For 
how  but  by  divinity  had  she  that  morning  escaped 
her  death? 


VII 
LORD    RIBATA'S   GARDEN 

I  STAR  did  not  keep  her  word  about  Charmides* 
Greek  lyre.  It  was  not  returned  to  him  at  all, 
whole  or  broken.  So,  after  a  little  waiting,  the  Greek, 
hungry  for  an  instrument,  was  obliged  to  replace  his 
old  one  with  one  of  the  awkwardly  fashioned  Baby 
lonian  lyres,  on  which  his  skill  was  admirable,  but 
which  did  not  by  any  means  produce  the  music  of  the 
Greek  instrument.  He  felt  the  circumstance  in  two 
ways:  one  of  disappointment  with  his  goddess,  the 
other  as  an  omen  —  that  the  last  tie  that  had  bound 
him  to  Sicily  was  forever  broken.  Henceforth,  in  every 
thing  but  complexion  and  religion,  he  was  of  Babylon. 
The  Great  City  held  every  interest  of  his  life.  Every 
thing  that  belonged  to  it  was  dear  to  him;  and  he 
wished  nothing  better  than  to  have  no  distinction  made, 
even  in  thought,  between  him  and  the  natives  of  Chal- 
dea.  Only  Apollo  and  the  memory  of  his  mother  lived 
in  his  heart  to  remind  him  that  his  childhood  had  been 
something  far  away.  And  more  than  once,  by  night, 
thinking  of  the  mother's  loneliness,  he  sent  her,  by 
Castor  and  Pollux,  fervent  messages  of  affection.  Per 
haps  Heraia  received  these  and  was  content;  for  a 
mother-heart  is  quick  to  feel  even  a  thought,  though  it 
be  generated  ten  thousand  miles  away,  and  a  mother 
can  rise  to  any  sacrifice  for  the  happiness  of  the  child 
of  her  flesh. 

By  the  middle  of  July  Charmides  began  to  know 
Babylon,    its    ways   and    byways,    very    thoroughly. 


208  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

At  first  he  had  lost  himself  almost  every  time  that  he 
ventured  from  Ramua's  side;  but,  by  much  wander 
ing  to  find  his  way  back  again,  he  learned  the  streets 
and  their  crooked  twistings  as  not  all  of  the  old  in 
habitants  knew  them.  He  was  likewise  in  a  fair  way 
to  overcome  his  greatest  and  most  uncomfortable 
difficulty  —  the  language.  His  necessarily  constant 
intercourse  with  those  that  knew  no  word  of  any 
tongue  but  their  own,  very  shortly  familiarized  him 
with  the  commonest  phrases  of  every-day  life.  Be 
yond  this,  his  greatest  help  came  from  the  temple  in 
which  he  worked.  During  the  long  hours  that  he 
spent  behind  the  high  place,  listening  to  the  plaints 
and  confessions  of  devout  ones,  and  while  he  chanted 
the  replies  put  into  his  mouth  by  the  attendant  priest, 
he  had,  perforce,  to  occupy  his  mind  in  some  way; 
and  the  way  most  obvious  was  by  trying  to  compre 
hend  what  he  was  saying,  and  what  the  people  before 
him  were  talking  about.  With  the  assistance  of  the 
words  that  he  had  acquired,  and  his  very  slight  natural 
aptitude,  supplemented  by  an  ardent  desire  to  learn, 
he  made  quite  astonishing  progress.  By  the  end  of 
July  it  would  have  disturbed  the  priest  not  a  little  to 
know  the  thoughts  that  were  in  Charmides'  head  as, 
little  by  little,  the  gigantic  system  of  deceit  unfolded 
itself  before  him.  But  Charmides  was  discreet.  Never 
by  word  or  look  did  he  betray  the  least  knowledge  of 
the  Babylonish  tongue,  but  performed  his  required 
duties  regularly,  and  appeared  satisfied  with  the  po 
sition,  while  becoming  gradually  more  and  more  dis 
gusted  with  the  realities  of  this  new  religion. 

Some  days  before  it  was  generally  known  in  the 
city,  Charmides  learned  from  the  temple-priests  about 
Istar's  journey  to  Erech.  That  her  departure  was 
to  be  for  good  was  generally  understood  among  the 
priesthood,  though  of  the  intended  murder  not  a 
single  member  of  the  lower  orders  dreamed.  The 
Greek,  however,  was  sorrowful  enough  over  her  go- 


LORD    RIBATA'S    GARDEN        209 

ing;  and  it  was  the  desire  of  his  heart  to  be  one  of 
the  musicians  of  the  voyage.  Of  this,  however,  there 
was  no  hope;  for  Charmides  had  become  too  valu 
able  an  adjunct  of  the  temple  of  Sin  to  be  spared  even 
for  a  week  to  the  service  of  Sin's  daughter.  He, 
however,  with  Ramua  and  Baba,  went  down  to  the 
water-front  by  the  great  bridge,  and  looked,  for 
what  the  Greek  in  his  heart  thought  to  be  the  last 
time,  on  the  form  of  her  for  whom  he  had  come  to 
Babylon.  For  the  next  few  days  he  was  very  un 
happy.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  in  some  way 
been  untrue  to  his  vow.  Babylon  was  his  Baby 
lon  no  more ;  and  were  it  not  for  Ramua,  he  would 
have  set  out  instantly  for  Erech.  But  Ramua  had 
become  even  more  necessary  to  his  happiness  than 
the  great  Istar.  To  leave  her  would  mean  undying 
regret.  Either  way,  apparently,  his  existence  would 
be  incomplete,  and  what  to  do  to  remedy  it  was  a 
cause  of  speculation  that  was  happily  ended  by  Istar's 
return  to  Babylon.  She  came  unheralded,  in  a  cov 
ered  barge,  and  went  back  to  her  temple  in  a  close- 
fastened  litter,  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  Belshazzar's 
cavalry.  To  all  the  strange  tales  and  sinister  rumors 
circulated  through  the  city  about  this  unexpected  re 
turn,  Charmides  turned  a  deaf  ear.  She,  his  goddess, 
was  again  in  her  abode.  It  was  enough. 

During  this  time  the  affairs  of  the  Greek's  non-pro 
fessional  life  had  become  very  absorbing.  When  his 
peace  of  mind  was  restored  by  the  home-coming  of 
Istar,  he  discovered  that  he  was  utterly  and  hopelessly 
in  love  with  Ramua.  That  Ramua  returned  some 
part  of  his  affection  he  sometimes,  for  a  wild  moment 
or  so,  permitted  himself  to  hope;  more  often  doubted 
so  entirely  that  his  misery  seemed  to  be  complete.  She 
could  not  care  for  him,  of  course.  Yet,  barring  the 
two  or  three  hours  a  day  that  he  spent  in  the  temple, 
the  two  of  them  were  never  apart  while  the  sun  was 
above  the  horizon;  and  no  one  ever  heard  Ramua 


210  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

object  to  the  arrangement,  or  appear  to  be  wearied  by 
it.  Eyes,  ears,  mind,  and  soul  of  each  were  all  for  the 
other,  though  as  yet  neither  could  believe  that  the 
other  cared.  And  neither  of  them,  in  their  joyous 
selfishness,  perceived  the  little  creature  who  stood 
apart  from  them  both,  watching  in  silence  that  which 
was  bringing  heart-break  into  her  eyes.  Poor  Baba! 
Many  a  time  by  day,  and  more  often  still  by  night, 
Zor's  silken  coat  was  wet  with  her  mistress'  tears. 
Beltani  had  caught  more  than  one  stifled  sob  com 
ing  from  the  hard  pallet  in  the  dark  hours;  but 
Ramua,  wide  awake,  perhaps,  yet  dreaming  of  sun 
shine  and  bright  hair,  never  heard  at  all,  or  else 
put  it  down  to  that  most  unpoetic  of  all  sounds — 
a  snore. 

One  evening,  some  time  after  Istar's  return  from 
Erech,  when  Charmides  had  become  more  proficient 
in  the  Chaldean  tongue,  and  when  he  also  felt  quite 
at  home  with  Beltani  and  the  two  girls,  he  asked  a 
question  of  which  the  effect  on  the  family  was  some 
thing  entirely  unlocked  for.  It  was  simply  as  to  how 
Ramua  obtained  her  daily  supply  of  fresh  flowers. 

A  silence,  complete  and  strained,  followed  his  words. 
Ramua  flushed.  Baba  hid  her  face  on  Zor's  back; 
and  even  Beltani  looked  uncomfortable.  Charmides, 
puzzled,  and  wholly  ignorant  of  any  reason  for  the 
silence,  instantly  feared  some  embarrassing  mistake 
in  his  language,  and  quickly  repeated  the  question 
in  different  words,  wishing  to  remedy  any  possible 
impropriety  that  might  have  crept  into  his  former 
speech.  Ramua  now  looked  at  him  imploringly ;  but 
Baba,  turning  to  her  mother,  said,  in  a  low  voice : 

"  Let  us  tell  him.  Then  Bazuzu  will  no  longer  have 
to  wait  till  so  late.  Now  he  loses  his  sleep." 

Beltani  considered  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"Let  us  trust  him.  He  will  be  silent,"  said  Baba 
again. 

"No!     No,  indeed!"  cried  Ramua,  unhappily. 


LORD    RIBATA'S    GARDEN        211 

Baba  regarded  her  sister  with  the  slightest  hint 
of  scorn.  "Will  you  always  deceive  him?"  she  said, 
bitterly. 

Then  Charmides,  not  a  little  disturbed  by  these  un 
pleasantly  suggestive  words,  looked  at  Ramua  to  find 
her  lips  quivering  and  her  eyes  ominously  bright. 

"Tell  me  of  this  thing!  Let  me  hear,  that  I  may 
know  all!"  he  demanded,  stumbling  more  than  usual, 
in  his  new-born  anxiety. 

Then  Beltani,  perceiving  that  matters  were  being 
made  to  look  worse  than  they  actually  were,  took  the 
affair  into  her  own  hands,  and  proceeded  to  answer 
at  great  length,  with  the  assistance  of  many  gestures 
and  much  tautology,  Charmides'  unfortunate  ques 
tion. 

The  tenement  of  Ut,  in  which  Beltani  and  her  fam 
ily  dwelt,  was,  as  of  course  Charmides  knew,  sepa 
rated  from  the  palace  and  the  extensive  gardens  of 
Lord  Ribata  Bit-Shumukin  only  by  the  canal  of  the 
New  Year,  and  by  two  or  three  hundred  feet  of  waste 
ground  on  the  other  side  of  the  stream.  And  in  these 
gardens  behind  the  palatial  residence,  bloomed,  all 
the  year  round,  flowers  of  every  kind  known  to  Baby 
lonia  and  the  West,  in  such  countless  numbers  that  a 
hundred  blossoms  taken  daily  from  the  wilderness  of 
fragrance,  could  never  be  missed.  Moreover,  neither 
my  Lord  Ribata  nor  any  member  of  his  household, 
ever,  so  far  as  Beltani  knew,  appeared  in  these 
grounds.  Therefore,  if,  every  night,  black  Bazuzu 
went,  unseen  and  unheard,  into  the  gardens,  and  very 
carefully  selected  enough  flowers  for  Ramua 's  basket 
next  morning,  could  either  the  gods  or  Ribata  be 
very  angry?  Nay,  indeed,  had  not  my  lord  him 
self  on  more  than  one  occasion  actually  purchased 
a  rose  of  his  own  from  the  flower-girl  on  the  steps  of 
the  temple  of  Istar?  And  was  not  this  a  sign  from 
heaven  that  the  great  gods  winked  at  the  whole  pro 
ceeding?  Ramua  might  weep  if  she  would.  She 


212  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

had  countenanced  the  arrangement  for  two  years, 
and  it  was  not  exactly  honest  to  be  smitten  now  with 
repentance. 

Beltani  finished  her  explanation  a  little  defiantly 
and  looked  up,  not  without  apprehension,  to  find  Char 
mides'  face  filled  with  relief,  and  as  cheerful  as  pos 
sible.  Ramua  refused  to  look  at  him,  though  he  was 
smiling  at  her  broadly ;  and  it  was  only  when  he  said, 
"  Let  us  together  go  and  seek  thy  flowers  for  to 
night,"  that  she  flashed  at  him  a  look  of  happy  ac 
quiescence. 

Charmides'  eyes  grew  brighter  yet.  Evidently  that 
fateful  garden  was  going  to  prove  a  little  paradise 
for  him.  He  had  a  quick  and  delicious  vision  of 
himself  and  of  her  shut  far  away  from  everything 
sordid  and  unbeautiful,  wandering  together  through 
fragrant,  flowery  paths  in  the  moonlight,  whispering 
words  meant  only  for  the  stars  and  for  themselves. 
Moreover,  this  was  a  dream  that  might  be  repeated 
many  times;  for,  while  Ramua  must  sell  flowers  for 
her  livelihood,  and  Bazuzu  deserved  a  night  of  un 
broken  rest,  it — 

Here  this  pleasing  reverie  came  to  a  halting  finish. 
Charmides  suddenly  felt  that  Baba's  mournful,  owl- 
like  eyes  were  reading  his  thoughts  as  he  would  have 
read  a  Greek  tablet.  Beltani,  too,  was  by  no  means 
blind;  and  she,  at  any  rate,  had  not  the  slightest  in 
tention  of  permitting  Ramua  and  the  hare-brained 
Greek  to  go  alone  together  into  Ribata's  garden.  The 
good  woman's  mind  was  of  a  purely  Babylonish  turn, 
and  the  ideas  attendant  on  a  fine  sense  of  honor 
had  never  occurred  to  her.  Charmides,  therefore,  was 
not  of  high  enough  birth,  nor  possessed  of  sufficient 
wealth,  to  admit  of  any  dangerous  philandering.  This 
fact  Beltani  made  known  to  him  in  terms  as  terse  and 
to  the  point  as  only  she  was  capable  of  using.  It 
was  nothing  that  Charmides  should  clench  his  fists 
and  grow  purple  with  rage  at  the  insult;  or  that 


LORD    RIBATA'S    GARDEN        213 

Ramua  was  ready  to  dissolve  in  tears  of  shame.  To 
these  things  the  good  housewife  closed  her  eyes  pleas 
antly.  What  did  they  signify?  She  was  mistress  of 
the  situation,  and,  as  such,  the  feelings  of  others  had 
no  effect  on  her. 

The  sunset  hour  was  over  at  last,  and  the  small 
household  descended  from  the  roof  and  entered  their 
rooms,  where  the  regular  incantation  was  made  and 
the  prayers  to  Marduk  and  to  Sin  were  said.  Then 
Beltani  and  her  daughters  passed  into  the  inner  room, 
and  Charmides  was  left  alone  for  the  night  with  Ba- 
zuzu. 

In  spite  of  his  ill-humor,  the  Greek  could  not  lay 
him  down  for  the  night  without  his  address  to  his 
patron,  Father  Apollo.  Bazuzu  watched  him  as  he 
knelt,  his  face  turned  towards  the  west,  and  saw  his 
fretful  expression  gradually  soften  to  one  of  rever 
ence  and  love  as  the  melodious  words  left  his  lips. 
Charmides  did  not  guess  how  often  and  how  closely 
Bazuzu  followed  his  devotions,  nor  realize  that,  in 
the  heart  of  the  deformed  black  man,  a  very  deep 
affection  for  himself  had  been  growing  throughout 
the  summer.  His  prayers  finished,  he  gave  Ba 
zuzu  good -night  and  a  smile,  as  he  lay  back  upon 
his  pallet.  But  sleep  was  not  very  ready  to  his  eyes. 
Now  that  the  explanation  had  been  made,  now  that 
Ramua's  tearful  face  was  no  longer  pleading  with 
him,  the  matter  of  the  flowers  'took  on  rather  a  dif 
ferent  aspect  in  his  mind.  In  the  year  539  B.C."  the 
Greek  notions  of  justice  were  strict  and  well  defined, 
and  the  laws  were  enforced  far  more  stringently 
than  in  later  times.  The  word  theft  was  a  synonym 
for  dishonor.  And  Charmides  was  thoroughly  im 
bued  with  the  traditions  of  his  race.  Therefore,  now 
that  he  had  begun  to  consider  the  affair  impartially, 
it  had  not  a  pleasant  look.  Twist  it  as  he  would, 
he  could  not  but  see  that  Ribata  was  being  wronged, 
and  that — much  worse! — the  maiden  who  was  dearer 


214  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

to  him  than  anything  else  in  the  world,  had  been  for 
two  years  an  open  party  to  this  wrong.  To  be  sure, 
Beltani  was  the  originator  of  the  scheme,  and  Bel- 
tani  was  the  girl's  mother.  Implicit  obedience  to  one's 
parents  was  also  another  law  of  Greek  social  life. 
Was  Ramua,  after  all,  so  much  to  blame?  Then,  as 
Charmides  thought  of  his  own  mother,  her  honor,  her 
goodness,  her  sympathy,  there  came  to  him  the  wish 
that  he  might  be  to  Ramua  all  that  and  more  than 
his  own  mother  had  been  to  him.  He  determined 
that  Ribata  should  some  day  be  made  aware  of  this 
whole  matter,  and  should  be  repaid  for  his  loss  by 
Charmides  himself,  who  would  have  the  right  to  do  so 
when  Ramua  was  his  wife. 

This  thought  came  to  him  together  with  the  first 
touch  of  drowsiness;  and  so  comforting  was  the  idea, 
and  so  heavy  were  his  eyelids,  that,  five  minutes  later, 
the  Greek  was  dead  to  the  world.  Thus  he  did  not 
know  when  Bazuzu,  basket  in  hand,  slipped  quietly 
away  into  the  night.  It  was  much  earlier  than  the 
slave  had  been  accustomed  to  depart;  but,  now  that 
Charmides  knew  the  household  secret,  Beltani 's  slave 
might  as  of  old  choose  his  hour  of  departure  on  the 
unlawful  errand. 

It  was  very  dark  to-night  as  he  crept  down  the  al 
ley  to  the  bank  of  the  canal.  The  moon  had  passed 
the  full,  and  its  red  rim  had  just  peered  over  the  hori 
zon,  as  the  slave,  having  crossed  the  little  bridge  over 
the  stream  and  traversed  the  intervening  distance  be 
tween  it  and  the  garden,  stood  before  the  high  hedge 
and  the  concealed  opening  in  the  wall  through  which 
he  was  accustomed  to  enter  Ribata's  domain. 

Bazuzu  could  have  come  to  this  place  blindfolded 
and  have  entered  with  perfect  accuracy.  Now,  for 
the  thousandth  time,  he  crawled  in  on  his  hands  and 
knees,  drew  the  basket  after  him,  straightened  up, 
and,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  hur 
ried  over  to  the  long  bed  of  naming  red  lilies,  now 


LORD    RIBATA'S    GARDEN        215 

in  their  prime,  and,  in  consequence,  Ramua's  chief 
stock  in  trade  till  the  paler  flowers  of  early  autumn 
should  come  into  bloom.  Here,  with  by  no  means 
ungentle  fingers,  the  black  man  began  to  pluck 
the  shapely  flowers,  selecting  them  with  such  care 
that  no  one,  casually  overlooking  the  bed,  could  have 
perceived  how  many  had  been  taken.  Bazuzu  was 
in  no  hurry.  Perhaps,  once  here,  he  enjoyed  be 
ing  in  the  garden.  Any  one  might,  indeed,  have 
enjoyed  it,  for  the  place  was  rarely  beautiful.  The 
newly  risen  moon,  showing  now  above  the  shadowy, 
distant  towers  of  the  various  temples,  flooded  the 
dreamy  recesses  of  tropical  verdure  with  a  soft,  bluish 
light  that  drew  forth  perfumes  from  every  blossom, 
and  caused  the  new-fallen  dew  in  the  flower-cups  to 
glisten  like  opals.  Occasionally  Bazuzu  paused  in  his 
work,  and  lifted  up  his  head  to  look  about  him  in 
the  luxuriant  stillness.  Dimly  he  realized  that  even 
sleep  rested  and  refreshed  him  no  more  than  this. 
He  did  not  now  regret  that  Ramua  and  Charmides 
had  not  been  allowed  to  come  here  together.  To 
what  raptures  of  love  their  souls  would  have  been 
drawn  by  the  beauty  of  this  scene,  the  black  man 
did  not  know.  In  the  midst  of  his  small,  untutored 
ecstasy,  he  passed  from  the  lilies  to  a  clump  of  rose- 
trees  that  overhung  a  pond  where  lotus  -  blossoms 
floated.  It  was  here,  while  bending  over  the  perfect 
specimens  of  the  fair  flower  of  Persia,  that  his  quick 
ear  caught  the  sound  of  steps  —  footsteps  —  coming 
measuredly  towards  him. 

Bazuzu's  heart  gave  a  throb  of  terror  as  he  looked 
up  the  path  leading  to  the  palace.  Yes,  it  was  true. 
Two  figures — men — were  approaching.  Clasping  the 
basket  close  to  his  breast,  Bazuzu  knelt  and  drew 
himself  as  far  back  as  possible  in  the  shadow  of  the 
rose  thicket.  He  was  no  more  than  hidden  when 
the  men  passed  him,  so  closely  that  the  rich  man 
tle  of  one  of  them  dragged  over  the  slave's  hand. 


216  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Down  t<3  the  hedge  and  then  back  by  the  same 
beaten  path,  always  slowly,  always  earnestly  convers 
ing  together,  moved  the  twain;  and  as  they  passed 
him  again,  Bazuzu  had  recovered  himself  sufficiently 
to  recognize  both.  One  was  Ribata  himself,  lord  of 
the  house,  whom  Bazuzu  knew,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
to  be  Beltani's  landlord.  The  other  was  a  figure  fa 
miliar  to  every  one  in  Babylon :  Bel-Shar-Uzzur,  gov 
ernor  of  the  city  and  heir-apparent  to  the  throne.  It 
was  he  who  talked  most.  Bazuzu  watched  him  in 
terestedly,  for  it  was  no  small  thing  to  sit  listening 
to  the  conversation  of  royal  princes.  Hitherto,  when 
he  had  chanced  to  see  the  prince,  or  when  he  had 
heard  others  tell  of  seeing  him,  Belshazzar  had  worn 
an  air  of  over-confident  and  joyous  pride,  of  haughti 
ness,  even,  for  which  he  was  none  too  well  loved  by 
his  people.  Perhaps  now  it  was  only  the  whiteness 
of  the  moonlight  that  changed  him  so;  but  to-night 
there  was  neither  pride  nor  joy 'in  that  imperious  face. 
A  great  pallor  was  on  him  and  his  look  was  troubled. 
From  the  fragments  of  speech  that  he  caught,  the 
slave  could  not  determine  what  difficulty  Belshaz 
zar  might  be  in.  He  spoke  often  of  temples  and  of 
priests,  and  there  was  some  one  whom  he  never  called 
by  name,  but  spoke  of  as  "  she,"  or  sometimes,  extrava 
gantly,  as  "Belit"— "goddess." 

In  his  interest  in  the  scene  before  him,  Bazuzu  grad 
ually  forgot  the  danger  of  his  position.  A  dozen  times 
the  two  lords  had  brushed  him  as  they  passed,  but 
never  chanced  to  see  the  shadowy  figure  huddled  at 
their  very  feet.  Presently,  however,  in  his  eager 
ness  to  catch  the  end  of  a  sentence,  Bazuzu  crept  an 
inch  or  two  forward,  and  did  not  draw  back  when  the 
two  turned  towards  him  once  more  from  the  end  of 
the  path.  They  drew  near,  and  Belshazzar 's  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  ground.  Ribata  wras  speaking,  when, 
three  feet  from  the  thicket,  Belshazzar  suddenly  seized 
his  comrade's  arm  and  stopped  short. 


LORD    RIBATA'S    GARDEN        217 

"  Dost  thou,  fearing  danger,  keep  about  thee  con 
cealed  guards,  Bit-Shumukin?"  he  cried,  roughly. 

"What  sayest  thou,  Belshazzar?" 

For  answer,  the  prince  strode  forward,  stooped,  seized 
Bazuzu  by  the  collar,  and  dragged  him  to  his  feet. 

There  was  a  silence.  The  slave,  cold  with  fear, 
stood  open-mouthed,  his  eyes  wildly  rolling,  the  basket 
still  clasped  tightly  in  his  arms.  Ribata,  who  had 
grown  white  with  astonishment  and  anger,  stood  star 
ing  at  him.  Belshazzar,  lips  compressed  and  brows 
drawn  together,  moved  aside. 

"Are  you  of  my  house,  knave?  And  for  whom 
art  thou  here?  Speak!  Answer  me!"  And  Ribata 
stamped  upon  the  ground. 

Bazuzu,  remembering,  even  in  his  terror,  the  help 
lessness  of  Ramua,  answered,  shiveringly :  "  Yea, 
of  thy  house,  O  lord!" 

"He  lies,  Bit-Shumukin,"  interrupted  the  prince, 
sharply.  "  His  collar  is  of  leather.  Those  of  thy 
house — " 

"  Yes,  yes!"  cried  Ribata,  still  more  angrily.  " Speak 
the  truth,  thou  villain,  or — there  is  death  in  my  gar 
den.  Who  art  thou?" 

With  thickening  tongue  and  reluctant  heart,  Ba 
zuzu  made  reply :  "  I  am  the  slave  of  the  Lady  Bel- 
tani." 

"And  who  is  the  Lady  Beltani?" 

"She  dwells  across  the  canal,  in  the  tenement  Ut 
of  my  lord." 

"Ho!  Lady  Beltani !  A  dweller  in  Ut!  And  why, 
then,  art  thou  here  and  not  in  thy  lady's  own  spacious 
gardens?" 

Bazuzu  helplessly  held  out  his  flower-basket. 

Ribata  seized  it  by  the  handle,  and  examined  it  and 
its  contents.  "These  flowers  —  they  go  to  beautify, 
no  doubt,  the  person  of  the  Lady  Beltani?" 

"My  lord,  they  are  sold  by  the  Lady  Ramua,  her 
daughter,  who  sitteth  daily  on  the  steps  of  the  plat- 


218  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

form  at  the  temple  of  Istar,  that  she  may  obtain  bread- 
money  for  her  mother.  My  lord  knoweth  well  that 
the  dwellers  in  the  tenement  of  Ut  know  not  gold." 

"Ah!  Ramua,  the  flower  -  seller,  is  thy  mistress' 
daughter?"  demanded  Belshazzar,  stepping  forward 
a  little. 

Bazuzu  inclined  his  head. 

"  Then,  Bit-Shumukin,  unless  the  knave  lies  again, 
the  gods  favor  thee  well.  Have  her  brought  to  thee, 
the  Lady  Ramua.  She  is  as  fair  a  maid  as  any  in 
Babylon;  and  as  she  has  sold  thy  flowers — let  her 
now  pay  for  them." 

Ribata  turned  to  his  friend  with  interest  in  his  face. 
"  Do  you  laugh  at  me,  Bit-Shamash,  or  is  this  thing  so?" 

"  It  is  so,  Ribata.  Send  only  for  the  maid,  and  see 
if  Bel  is  not  kindly  disposed  to  thee." 

"Send  for  her  here?  Now?  Nay — the  knave  no 
doubt  lies." 

"By  my  father's  throne,  I  think  he  does  not!  The 
maiden  Ramua  is  known  to  me.  Have  I  not  passed  her 
daily  for  months,  sitting  on  the  temple  steps?  Have 
I  not  oftentimes  worn  a  handful  of  flowers  bought 
from  her  for  a  se,  to  win  a  smile  from  her  maiden  lips? 
Br-r!  Ribata!  Thou  hast  the  blood  of  Cannes*  in 
thy  veins.  Send  for  her  to  be  brought  before  thee. 
She  will  teach  thee  the  beauty  of  Sin's  bright  beams 
better  than  I.  Buy  her,  Ribata,  and  keep  her  for  thine 
own.  'Tis  those  that  cannot  be  bought  that  make 
men  miserable.  Send  for  this  maiden,  I  tell  thee. 
Brother,  I  go  home." 

Finishing  this  rather  cynical  advice,  Belshazzar 
turned  on  his  heel  and  started  for  the  palace.  Bit- 
Shumukin,  catching  him  by  the  arm,  tried  all  his 
eloquence  to  make  his  friend  remain.  The  prince 
was  obdurate,  in  his  light,  self-willed  way,  and  finally 
concluded  the  argument  by  saying: 

*The  fish-god. 


LORD    RIBATA'S    GARDEN       219 

"  Now  I  will  send  a  slave  to  thee  from  the  court-yard, 
who  shall  go  with  this  man  to  bring  the  lady  to  thee 
from  her  dwelling.  Quarrel  not  with  thy  fate,  0  son 
of  ingratitude  !  May  Marduk  bless  the  meeting  \" 

And  thereupon  Belshazzar  departed  and  went  his 
way,  leaving  Ribata  alone  with  the  still  trembling 
slave.  By  this  time  Bazuzu  was  utterly  wretched,  bit 
terly  angry  with  himself  for  speaking  Ramua's  name, 
vaguely  hating  Belshazzar  for  his  mockery,  thorough 
ly  apprehensive  of  the  power  of  the  man  who  stood 
at  his  elbow  tentatively  regarding  him.  Fortunate 
ly,  Belshazzar  lost  no  time  in  carrying  out  his  own 
suggestion,  and  presently  a  slave  of  Ribata 's  house 
hold  appeared,  coming  rapidly  down  the  path  from 
the  mansion.  Reaching  the  spot  where  his  master 
stood,  he  inclined  himself  profoundly,  and  waited  his 
lord's  will.  After  a  little  hesitation  Bit-Shumukin, 
seeing  nothing  else  to  be  done,  said,  in  a  tone  of 
quiet  command: 

"Thou,  Baniya,  must  go,  in  company  with  this 
slave  here,  to  the  tenement  of  Ut,  across  the  canal, 
and  bring  to  me,  from  her  abode,  the  Lady  Ramua — 
her,  and  none  other.  See  that  none  but  you  attends 
or  follows  her  hither.  In  this  place  I  shall  wait  for 
your  return.  Behold,  I  have  spoken.  Hasten  to 
obey." 

The  slave  inclined  himself  again,  and  then,  driving 
Bazuzu  peremptorily  before  him,  left  the  garden  by  a 
gate  that  was  always  fastened  on  the  inside.  Once 
without,  the  two  started  together  across  the  bare  field 
leading  to  the  foot-bridge  that  crossed  the  canal. 
Baniya  knew  the  way  as  well  as  Bazuzu  himself,  for 
the  tenement  of  Ut  was  one  of  Ribata's  largest  build 
ings,  and  any  one  familiar  with  the  poor  quarter  of 
the  New  Year  was  sure  to  know  where  this  house  was. 
Therefore  there  was  no  hope  of  Bazuzu's  leading  the 
man  astray.  There  was  but  one  thing  that  he  could 
do  now  for  Ramua,  and  this  he  tried. 


220  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

In  spite  of  his  ungainliness,  which  amounted  to 
actual  deformity,  Bazuzu  was  a  powerful,  and,  in  a  way, 
an  agile  man.  He  had  come  victorious  out  of  more 
than  one  brawl,  and  physical  pain  meant  very  little  to 
him.  Now,  as  the  two  of  them  came  to  the  edge  of  the 
bridge,  the  black  man  fell  a  step  behind  his  companion, 
and  after  a  second  or  two  darted  quickly  upon  Baniya, 
seized  him  about  the  body,  and  lifted  him  high  in  the 
air  with  the  intention  of  flinging  him  into  the  canal 
and  then  taking  to  his  heels  in  an  opposite  direction. 
But  Bazuzu  had  reckoned  on  Baniya 's  losing  his  head 
at  the  crucial  instant;  and  this  Baniya  did  not  do. 
The  moment  that  he  was  seized,  the  sinewy  little  slave 
twisted  one  arm  from  the  other's  grasp,  drew  some 
thing  from  his  girdle,  and  struck  twice  at  Bazuzu 's 
brawny  shoulder.  The  black  slave  uttered  a  quick 
cry  and  dropped  his  burden.  His  right  arm  fell  helj> 
less  at  his  side,  and  the  two  red  streams  that  had  gushed 
forth  from  different  points  in  his  shoulder,  met  on  the 
upper  arm  and  flowed  in  a  thick  flood  down  to  his 
hand. 

"  Let  the  slave  of  the  Lady  Ramua  guide  me  quickly 
to  her/'  observed  Baniya,  with  a  grin  at  the  distant 
moon. 

And  Bazuzu,  thoroughly  cowed,  made  no  answer, 
but  started  in  advance  of  his  companion  across  the 
bridge. 

The  door  to  the  general  room  of  Beltani's  menage 
was  open,  as  Bazuzu  had  left  it  an  hour  before.  Across 
the  threshold  lay  Zor,  quietly  asleep.  From  within 
came  the  faint,  regular  sound  of  Charmides'  breath 
ing.  Everything  was  perfectly  still.  As  Bazuzu 
started  to  enter  the  first  room,  however,  Baniya  pulled 
him  back,  and,  once  more  drawing  his  knife,  breathed 
softly : 

"I  will  enter  that  room  first,  slave,  and  my  knife  is 
in  my  hand.  Thou  shalt  rouse  the  Lady  Ramua 
from  her  sleep  and  bring  her  to  me  alone.  But  if  any 


LORD    RIBATA'S    GARDEN       221 

man  or  any  other  living  thing  in  this  house  wakes, 
know  that  thou  shalt  not  escape  death  at  my  hands. 
Now  heed  me!" 

Bazuzu  signified  his  acquiescence  by  a  nod,  and  pres 
ently  Baniya  was  left  alone  beside  Charmides'  pallet, 
while  the  black  man  crept  on  his  hands  and  knees 
into  the  other  room.  Ramua's  bed  was  near  the  door. 
Beltani  lay  in  the  far  corner,  Baba  on  the  other  side  of 
the  room.  Beside  Ramua  Bazuzu  stopped  and  knelt 
down.  All  three  women  were  asleep.  Beltani's  light 
snores  brought  reassurance  to  the  slave's  heart,  though 
the  task  of  waking  one  of  the  sleepers  in  this  room 
without  rousing  either  of  the  other  two  seemed,  on 
the  face  of  it,  impossible.  Nevertheless,  Bazuzu  must 
try  for  his  life.  Therefore,  with  the  most  delicate  of 
touches  he  laid  a  finger  on  Ramua's  forehead.  She 
quivered  a  little.  Her  eyes  flew  open.  Then,  seeing 
the  strange  shadow  beside  her,  she  asked,  softly: 

"What  is  it?    Thou,  my  Baba?" 

Bazuzu,  speaking  between  his  teeth  in  a  tone  scarce 
ly  audible,  answered :  "  It  is  I,  Bazuzu,  Lady  Ramua. 
Rise  thou  without  noise  and  creep  into  the  outer  room. 
There  we  may  more  safely  speak." 

Forthwith  he  set  the  example  by  starting  upon  his 
hands  and  knees  back  into  the  other  room,  where 
Baniya  waited  and  the  Greek  slept. 

Ramua,  instinctive^  dreading  her  mother,  and  fear 
ing  also  the  unguessed  errand  of  Bazuzu,  implicitly 
obeyed  the  words  of  the  slave  and  made  her  way  skil 
fully,  without  the  faintest  sound,  out  of  her  dark  sleep 
ing-place  into  the  moonlit  living-room.  Seeing  her, 
Baniya  stepped  swiftly  forth,  causing  an  exclamation 
to  rise  to  her  lips.  Bazuzu  stood  one  side,  his  head 
bowed,  till  Ribata's  slave  had  insolently  examined 
her,  from  the  pretty  head  with  its  loosened  hair,  down 
the  ragged  tunic  to  her  delicately  arched  feet.  Then 
a  slight  smile  broke  over  the  face  of  my  lord's  ser 
vant,  and  he  bowed  as  he  whispered: 


222  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"Will  the  Lady  Ramua  deign  to  follow  me?" 

Ramua,  who  had  been  regarding  the  man  in  mute 
amazement,  now  turned  quickly  round  and  looked 
to  Bazuzu  for  some  explanation  of  this  astonishing 
request.  Bazuzu,  weary,  suffering  from  his  wounds, 
and  utterly  despairing  over  Ramua 's  impending  fate, 
lowered  his  head  still  further. 

"Lord  Ribata  waits,"  he  muttered. 

"  Ribata  1"  In  her  terror,  Ramua  scarcely  whis 
pered  the  words.  She  looked  wildly  from  Bazuzu, 
who  had  lost  all  hope,  to  Baniya,  uneasy  with  impa 
tience.  Then,  slowly,  she  turned  her  eyes  to  the  spot 
where  Charmides  lay.  He  slept.  The  Greek  slept 
tranquilly  on  while  she  passed  through  this  great 
peril !  It  was  the  sight  of  him  there,  sunk  in  oblivion, 
that  suddenly  decided  Ramua.  That  he  could  sleep 
through  this  time  was  an  omen  that  he  was  not  for 
her.  A  sudden  anger  against  him  rose  up  in  her 
breast.  With  her  heart  full  to  bursting  of  tears,  of 
terror,  of  misery,  she  started  forward  into  the  moon 
light,  following  the  footsteps  of  the  swiftly  moving 
slave. 

In  the  mean  time  my  lord,  kept  up  later  than  he  had 
expected  to-night,  was  trying  to  amuse  himself  with 
the  beauties  of  his  unfrequented  garden.  While  he 
wandered  up  and  down  the  deserted  paths,  he  could 
not  but  muse  on  the  rather  curious  and  entertaining 
incident  of  the  night.  Ribata  was  not  by  nature  an  un 
generous  man ;  and  now,  as  he  looked  about  him  on  the 
extreme  beauty  of  his  surroundings,  it  seemed  rather 
well  than  otherwise  that  some  one  should  have  had 
so  much  benefit  from  his  unheeded  flowers.  Cer 
tainly  the  plants  seemed  to  have  suffered  no  harm  at 
Bazuzu's  hands.  Instead,  the  gardeners  had,  in  all 
probability,  been  saved  a  daily  hour  or  so  of  labor  of 
-the  same  kind.  Then  Ribata  pondered  for  a  little  on 
the  code  of  laws  that  might  put  a  slave  to  death  for 
just  such  a  deed — something  that  did  no  harm  to  any 


LORD    RIBATA'S    GARDEN       223 

one,  and  on  the  other  hand  helped  a  poor  family  to  live. 
Certainly,  for  a  judge  of  the  royal  court,  Ribata  was 
not  narrow;  neither  was  he  harsh.  Presently,  as  he 
continued  his  walk,  he  came  upon  the  basket  still  con 
taining  a  handful  of  red  lilies,  lying,  as  he  himself 
had  finally  dropped  it,  beside  the  rose  thicket.  Ribata 
picked  it  up,  and,  as  he  moved  on  again,  began,  half  ab 
sently,  to  pluck  flowers — such  flowers  as  Bazuzu  had 
never  dared  take — and  to  put  them  into  the  light  re 
ceptacle.  My  lord  confessed  to  himself  that  his  work 
was  not  artistically  done.  Great  clumps  of  jasmine 
from  their  carefully  trained  vines,  thick  bunches  of 
heliotrope,  heavy  lotus-blossoms  with  their  rubber-like 
stalks,  golden  roses  and  waxen  camellias,  the  rarest 
of  his  garden's  lustrous  treasures,  he  pulled  and 
dragged  about  with  his  unpractised  hands,  and  threw 
in  a  fragrant,  tangled  heap  into  Ramua's  basket. 

It  was  soon  rilled  to  overflowing,  and  then  Ribata 
went  back  to  the  gate  through  which  Baniya  must 
return.  Near  this  was  an  arbor  overgrown  with  sweet, 
white  flowers,  and  here  he  seated  himself  to  wait. 
He  was  not  impatient.  The  beauty  of  this  unvisited 
part  of  his  own  domain  had  made  a  strong  impression 
on  him,  and  he  leaned  back  comfortably  to  gaze  out 
upon  the  moonlight  and  to  dream  unwonted  dreams. 
Around  and  above  him  the  heavy  jasmine  exhaled 
its  overpowering  sweetness  into  the  limpid  moonlight. 
Near  him  row  upon  row  of  brilliant  lilies  lay  like  scar 
let  butterflies  asleep.  Presently,  from  a  distant  thicket, 
a  nightingale  began  to  pour  forth  its  full-throated 
song;  and  then,  as  Ribata  in  a  quiet  ecstasy  raised 
his  head  to  listen,  the  gate  opened,  and  Ramua,  bare 
footed,  with  flowing  hair,  came  into  the  garden. 

She  could  not,  from  where  she  stopped,  see  Ribata; 
and  he,  wishing  to  know  her  first,  did  not  immediately 
rise.  Baniya,  however,  broke  in  upon  him  by  running 
forward,  performing  his  obeisance,  and  demanding 
to  know  if  he  had  done  well.  My  lord  peremptorily 


224  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

dismissed  him,  and  then,  rising  reluctantly,  went  to 
the  maiden. 

"Ramua  is  made  welcome  to  Ribata 's  dwelling- 
place,"  he  said,  quietly,  looking  at  but  not  offering 
to  touch  her. 

Ramua's  reply  was  to  cover  her  face  with  her  hair, 
and  to  fold  both  hands  across  her  breast,  in  token  of 
the  deepest  woe. 

Somewhat  against  his  will,  Ribata  changed  his 
tactics.  Assuming  a  tone  of  severity  that  did  not  in 
the  least  accord  with  his  mood,  he  said:  "And  it 
was  you,  then,  that  despatched  your  slave  into  my 
garden,  that  he  might  steal  my  blossoms  for  your 
gain?" 

The  girl  fell  upon  her  knees  and  touched  her  fore 
head  to  the  earth.  "Alas,  my  lord!  Alas,  it  is  true! 
My  lord,  be  merciful  to  me!  May  my  lord  grant  a  lit 
tle  time  and  he  shall  be  repaid — shall  be  repaid  for  all. 
I  will  repay  him.  By  day  and  by  night  shall  my  hands 
labor.  I  will  earn  a  maneh  of  silver  wherewith  to  buy 
new  plants  for  his  garden,  if  he  will  let  me  now  depart 
from  him.  May  the  great  gods  put  mercy  into  the 
heart  of  my  lord!" 

Ribata  looked  down  at  her  with  a  smile  that  she 
could  not  see.  An  honest  maid,  apparently,  yet  too 
pretty  to  give  back  to  toil  and  poverty.  The  solitude, 
the  song  of  the  nightingale,  and  the  intoxicating  odors 
of  the  jasmine,  had  put  Ribata  into  a  sentimental 
mood.  He  lifted  Ramua  in  his  arms,  carried  her  in 
side  the  arbor,  and  placed  her  tenderly  upon  the  seat 
that  he  had  occupied.  Then,  while  she  vainly  strug 
gled  to  free  herself  from  his  touch,  he  continued  his 
scrutiny  of  her  face  and  form. 

Ramua  was  choking  with  terror  at  her  position.  It 
seemed  to  her  now  that,  rather  than  have  come  hither, 
she  should  have  killed  herself.  Yet  Charmides  had 
slept  through  her  trial!  Charmides!  Doubtless  he 
was  sleeping  yet.  And,  unreasonable  as  it  was,  that 


LORD    RIBATA'S    GARDEN        225 

thought  angered  her  anew.    Ah!    When  he  did  finally 
awake  he  would  find  his  world  changed  for  him. 

These  bitter  thoughts,  that  occupied  her  mind  even 
as  she  strove  to  hold  off  from  the  man  at  her  side,  were 
broken  in  upon  by  Ribata,  who  plaintively  addressed 
her: 

"  Lady  Ramua,  I  have  no  need  for  manehs  of  silver. 
They  are  mine  in  plenty.  At  the  thought  that  you 
labored  for  my  sake  my  heart  would  be  cut  with  each 
hour  of  your  work.  Nay,  maiden,  rather  than  that, 
I  offer  you  or  your  mother  as  many  golden  manehs 
as  you  desire  if  you,  fair  one,  will  become  a  flower  of 
my  garden  that  shall  bloom  near  me  forever.  This 
that  is  around  you  now,  and  my  palace  yonder,  and 
slaves  and  silks  and  perfumes,  sandal -wood  and 
frankincense,  wines  of  Helbon  and  spices  from  the 
East,  soft  couches  and  embroidered  garments,  shall  be 
all  your  own.  Come,  then,  Ramua !  Let  us  out  of  the 
sweet  night  into  my  house!  And  to-morrow  shall  thy 
mother  be  made  glad  with  wealth.  Say  that  thou  wilt 
follow  me,  my  beautiful  one!" 

Now  this  offer  was  a  very  fair  and  more  than  gen 
erous  one — for  the  day.  There  was  no  insult  in  it.  So 
much  Ramua  knew.  And  she  knew  also  that  it  was 
something  that  Beltani  would  have  heard  with  un 
bounded  delight.  It  was  a  chance  that  any  girl  of  her 
station  might  regard  as  a  gift  from  the  silver  sky. 
For  this  reason  Ramua  could  show  neither  scorn  nor 
anger.  She  had  no  refuge  but  tears.  Weep,  how 
ever,  she  certainly  did,  and  to  much  purpose;  for, 
before  the  deluge,  Ribata  was  perfectly  helpless.  He 
was  also  not  a  little  amazed,  for  he  knew  no  man  who 
had  ever  been  refused  such  an  offer.  It  was  not  a  lit 
tle  mortifying  to  his  vanity;  and  as  he  thought  the 
matter  over  while  still  she  wept,  his  temper  began  to 
rise.  Poor  man!  He  was  unaware  that  he  was  pitted 
against  a  youth  with  a  halo  of  shining  hair,  eyes  like 
the  summer  sky,  the  physique  of  a  Tammuz,  and  a 


226  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

voice  like  the  notes  of  an  ivory  flute.  Even  he  would 
scarcely  have  expected  to  compete  with  these  things, 
added,  as  they  were,  to  the  hope,  faint  though  it  might 
be,  of  an  honest  marriage  with  such  masculine  beauty. 
But  in  his  ignorance  the  good  man  began  to  regard 
his  rebellious  prize  with  no  little  impatience. 

"  Well,  maid/'  he  observed  at  length,  "  are  these 
silly  tears  all  thine  answer?  Hast  thou  no  other  word? 
If  so,  thou  shalt  be  carried  in!" 

Then  Ramua,  terrified  in  earnest,  repeated,  trem 
ulously:  "My  lord!  Have  pity!  I  will  work!  I  will 
repay  the  debt!  Only,  in  the  name  of  the  great  Sin, 
be  merciful!" 

"Now  is  this  girl  surely  a  fool!"  muttered  Bit- 
Shumukin  to  himself.  "  Listen  thou,  Ramua !  I  will 
take  no  money  from  thee." 

"Then  let  my  lord  take  my  life,"  she  answered, 
wearily. 

"Gladly!"  was  the  eager  reply. 

Misunderstanding  her  entirely,  he  would  have  seized 
her  in  his  arms  again,  but  that  the  girl,  shuddering  a 
little,  drew  the  knife  from  his  belt  and  pressed  it  into 
his  hand. 

"Ramua  is  ready!"  she  gasped,  faintly. 
Ribata  uttered  an  exclamation.     "Child!     Would  I 
kill  thee,  thinkest  thou?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  stupidly.  "Thou  hast  said 
it." 

Now  Ribata  was  amazed.  Fool  she  might  be,  in 
deed,  but  she  was  no  coward.  He  had  not  thought 
any  woman  possessed  of  such  ready  courage.  Step 
ping  back  a  little,  while  she  still  sat  there  before  him, 
drooping  and  silent,  he  considered  the  situation.  He 
was  not  brutal  at  heart,  Bit-Shumukin ;  and  he  was 
too  experienced  to  lose  his  head  through  that  mad  in 
toxication  known  only  to  youth  in  its  first  freedom. 
Besides  this,  no  woman  in  all  Babylon  could  have 
said  that  he  had  not  been  perfectly  fair  with  her. 


LORD    RIBATA'S    GARDEN        227 

This  present  matter  being,  in  his  wide  knowledge, 
unique,  demanded  a  unique  finale.  Presently  he  took 
up  the  basket  with  its  rare  and  fragrant  burden,  and 
put  it  into  Ramua's  passive  hand. 

"  There,  my  maid,  are  thy  morrow's  flowers.  Go 
thy  way  with  them,  and  sell  them  as  is  thy  wont.  But 
may  it  be  thy  last  day  upon  the  steps  of  the  temple  of 
Istar.  To-morrow,  at  sunset,  I  and  my  slaves  will 
come  to  thee  in  thy  dwelling.  By  then  thy  heart  must 
be  softened  towards  me.  For,  as  Sin  sheds  his  light 
from  above,  I  swear  that  I  will  have  thee  for  mine  own ! 
Go  thy  way  in  peace  to  thy  home,  and  the  great  gods 
bring  sleep  to  thine  eyelids." 

He  made  way  for  her  to  pass ;  and  Ramua,  panting 
with  anxiety  to  escape,  still  clinging  to  her  basket, 
rose  and  ran  from  him,  swiftly  as  a  deer,  to  the  un 
fastened  gate.  Ribata  watched  her  go,  and  heard 
the  little  sob  of  relief  that  she  gave  as  she  found 
Bazuzu,  weak  from  loss  of  blood  and  bitter  anxiety, 
awaiting  her  outside. 

So  Ribata,  pondering  philosophically  upon  the  mys 
teries  of  woman-nature,  and  looking  forward  with  no 
little  interest  to  the  sunset  of  the  morrow,  wended  his 
way  slowly  towards  his  palace. 


VIII 
BABA 

NEXT  morning,  just  as  the  sun  rose  over  the  city, 
Charmides  opened  his  eyes.  If  ever  Charmides 
could  be  said  to  be  lighter  of  heart,  brighter  of  face, 
and  cheerier  of  spirit  at  one  time  than  another,  it 
was  in  the  very  early  day.  The  smell  of  the  dawn, 
its  peculiar,  charming  freshness,  that  penetrates  to 
the  very  heart  of  the  most  crowded  city,  was  as  life  to 
his  soul.  To-day,  when  he  went  forth  for  his  solitary 
stroll  by  the  edge  of  the  canal,  the  air,  unbreathed 
and  dewy  as  it  was,  brought  him  as  usual  a  sense  of 
undimmed  delight. 

As  he  walked,  scarcely  heeding  the  rows  of  ungainly 
flat-boats  drawn  up  along  the  edge  of  the  canal,  or 
the  small  army  of  scavenger  -  dogs  that  slept  the 
sleep  of  the  hungry  near  them,  Charmides  dreamed. 
This,  indeed,  was  a  matter  of  course.  The  morning 
and  the  sunlight  would  have  lost  half  their  beauty 
had  not  the  thought  of  Ramua  been  in  his  heart.  To 
day  his  pure  pleasure  in  her  was  a  little  tainted  by  the 
impression  that  last  night's  revelation  had  made  upon 
him,  in  the  not  very  clear  sense  of  right  and  wrong 
that  it  betrayed  in  her  whom  he  loved.  Yet  he  had 
absolute  confidence  in  his  influence  over  her;  and,  as 
he  returned  to  the  house,  no  premonition  of  the  new 
trouble  disturbed  his  happy  tranquillity. 

Upon  recrossing  the  threshold  of  the  outer  room  an 
unwonted  sight  met  his  eyes.  It  was  still  early:  so 
early  that  neither  the  girls  nor  Beltani  would,  ordi- 


B  A  B  A  229 

narily,  have  been  about.  Yet  here  was  Bazuzu,  sitting 
near  the  door-way,  bare-shouldered,  while  Baba  bent 
over  him,  deftly  applying  a  paste  of  bruised  onions 
and  sesame  to  the  two  blood-incrusted  wounds  in  the 
slave's  back.  Bazuzu  sat  dumb  and  patient  beneath 
the  gentle  hands;  but  Baba's  face  was  drawn,  and  the 
tears  rained  from  her  eyes  as  she  worked.  Behold 
ing  them,  Charmides  uttered  an  exclamation: 

"Apollo!  What  is  it,  Bazuzu?  What  has  hap 
pened?" 

There  was  no  answer.  Bazuzu  did  not  even  look 
up.  Baba  gave  the  Greek  a  wretched  little  glance, 
compressed  her  lips,  and  bent  over  her  task  again 
with  a  stifled  sob. 

"Baba!     Bazuzu!     Tell  me!" 

Still  they  were  silent.  But  as  the  rhapsode,  more 
and  more  bewildered,  was  about  to  question  them 
more  intelligently,  the  slave,  lifting  his  eyes  for  an 
instant,  muttered,  indistinctly : 

"  To  him  that  sleeps  too  well  by  night  Nebo  grants 
little  knowledge." 

"Stop,  Bazuzu!  I  will  not  have  thee  speak  so!" 
cried  Baba,  instantly  resenting  the  suggestion. 

"What  is  this  that  you  say?"  And  Charmides, 
who  had  but  half  caught  the  slave's  words,  moved 
closer  to  him.  Then,  suddenly,  a  new  idea  struck 
the  rhapsode.  His  heart  shot  downward  for  one  sick 
ening  instant.  Speaking  very  slowly,  out  of  his  dread, 
he  asked  :  "  Ramua — where  is  she?" 

Baba  sobbed  again;  and  Charmides,  with  a  great 
cry,  sprang  to  her  side  and  laid  a  fierce  hand  on  the 
child's  shoulder.  "  Ramua ! — Ramua !  Where  is  she?" 

Baba  raised  her  eyes  and  made  a  sidelong  gesture 
towards  the  door  of  the  other  room.  Charmides  fol 
lowed  the  look,  and  he  almost  laughed  with  relief  to 
see  Ramua  standing  there  in  the  door  -  way,  looking 
at  him.  She  was  just  as  usual:  her  hair  smoothly 
coiled  and  bound  about  her  head  with  strips  of  bright 


230  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

cloth;  her  feet  shod  with  wooden  sandals;  her  ragged 
tunic  fitting  her  slender  figure  closely.  But  Ramua 's 
eyes  were  red — far  more  red  than  Baba's.  She  was 
not,  however,  weeping  now.  Charmides  thought  her 
tears  for  Bazuzu,  and  he  went  to  her  with  sympa 
thetic  phrases  on  his  tongue  and  comforting  tender 
ness  in  his  heart.  It  was  a  shock,  then,  when  she 
shrank  from  his  approach  and  turned  her  head  away. 
Baba,  watching  them  both,  read  both  their  hearts; 
but  her  tightened  lips  let  no  sound  escape  them. 

By  the  time  that  Bazuzu 's  shoulder  was  bandaged 
and  bound  up,  and  Charmides,  stung  to  silence,  had 
seated  himself  on  his  bed  and  bowed  his  head,  Bel- 
tani  bustled  forth  from  her  chamber,  her  face  beaming, 
her  whole  manner  breathing  busy  cheerfulness.  As 
she  called  a  loud  greeting  to  Charmides,  the  youth 
started  up  in  hopeful  astonishment.  Beltani  was  on 
her  way  up-stairs  to  the  roof,  however,  to  begin  prepa 
rations  for  breakfast ;  and  no  one  spoke  as  she  left  the 
room.  Ramua  seated  herself  listlessly  on  Bazuzu 's 
bed,  and  Baba  presently  went  to  her  and  sat  down  at 
her  side.  Bazuzu,  after  moving  vaguely  about  for  a 
few  minutes,  crossed  suddenly  to  the  far  corner  and 
drew  out  the  basket  of  flowers,  now  arranged  in  small 
nosegays,  and  sprinkled,  as  usual,  with  fresh  water. 
At  sight  of  them  Ramua  gave  a  faint  groan,  and  Char 
mides,  hearing  it,  jumped  suddenly  to  his  feet,  strode 
across  the  floor,  and  confronted  the  two  girls  in  a  man 
ner  that  showed  his  temper : 

"Baba — Ramua — I  know  not  my  fault.  Before  I 
leave  you,  then,  you  shall  tell  me  what  it  has  been. 
Speak  to  me!" 

Ramua's  only  reply  was  to  droop  her  head  a  little 
lower;  but  Baba  answered  and  said:  "There  is  no 
fault  in  you,  Charmides.  Our  trouble  is  not  yours." 

"What,  then,  is  your  trouble?  Why  is  it  not  mine? 
Your  mother  smiles  to-day.  Is  it  Bazuzu,  then?" 

"Nay." 


B  A  B  A  231 

"Then  what?    What?    Will  you  never  tell  me?" 

"  If  thou  wouldst  know — Ramua  is  to  be  sold  to-day 
— at  a  goodly  price.  Therefore  our  mother  smiles." 

Baba  spoke  in  a  stupid,  matter-of-fact  tone,  and 
Charmides  heard  her  stupidly.  "Ramtia  to  be  sold!" 
he  repeated.  A  "  Ramua  to— be—  RAMUA ! "  he  shout 
ed.  "RAMUA!  Speak  to  me!  Apollo!  My  lord!  Tell 
me  what  this  thing  is !  Tell  me  that  this  woman  speaks 
lies  to  me!  Apollo!" 

As  understanding  finally  came  home  to  him,  he 
broke  into  his  own  tongue.  Ramua 's  gentle,  dog- 
like  eyes  were  lifted  for  an  instant  only  to  his.  In 
her  glance  Baba's  words  were  corroborated.  Char 
mides  knew  from  her  look  that  the  thing  was  true. 
Then  he  suddenly  went  forward  and  took  her  into  his 
arms. 

"Ramua,"  he  said,  brightly,  "I  love  thee.  Thou 
shalt  be  my  wife." 

Then  at  last  her  resignation  was  broken  through, 
and  she  caught  him  wildly  about  the  neck.  Cling 
ing  to  him,  she  gave  forth  a  long,  wailing  sob  that 
seemed  to  have  no  end.  Baba,  white  and  choked, 
moved  from  her  place  and  aimlessly  crossed  the  room 
to  where  Bazuzu  crouched,  nervously  twisting  a  rose 
bud  in  his  hand.  Tight  and  yet  more  tightly  Char 
mides  held  her  whom  he  loved ;  and  in  that  close  em 
brace  peace  came  upon  them  both.  It  would  take 
more  strength  than  my  Lord  Ribata  had  to  part  these 
two  now. 

At  this  juncture  some  one  came  upon  the  scene — 
not  Ribata,  but  Beltani.  At  the  sight  that  met  her 
eyes  her  harsh  face  lost  its  light,  and  Charmides  was 
made  aware  of  her  presence  by  a  stinging  blow  on  the 
back  of  the  neck.  With  the  strength  of  a  strong  man 
she  tore  him  away  from  Ramua 's  close  embrace,  thrust 
the  girl  back  upon  Bazuzu 's  pallet,  and  lifted  her  hand 
again  to  strike  the  Greek  in  the  face.  Charmides 
caught  her  by  the  wrist.  Then  they  confronted  each 


232  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

other,  the  wide,  blue  eyes  blazing  into  the  small,  glit 
tering,  black  ones.  The  woman's  look  did  not  falter. 
She  seemed  to  have  in  her  no  sense  of  shame.  Then 
Charmides,  suddenly  flinging  her  off  from  him,  spoke 
two  words  in  such  a  tone  as  he  never  again  used  tow 
ards  a  woman: 

"Thou  fiend!" 

For  a  second  Beltani  cringed;  but  she  recovered 
herself.  With  an  unconcern  that  to  the  rhapsode 
was  incomprehensible,  she  presently  said,  addressing 
the  room  generally : 

"  The  food  is  ready.  If  any  would  eat,  let  him  corne 
up-stairs."  Then,  turning  on  her  heel  again,  she  re 
treated  to  the  roof. 

Not  a  single  one  of  the  four  left  behind  her,  disre 
garded  the  summons.  Such  was  Beltani's  peculiar 
power.  Baba,  Bazuzu,  and  Ramua,  went  from  fear. 
Charmides  followed  them,  out  of  a  sense  of  prudence — 
the  prudence  which  told  him  that  Ramua  could  only 
be  protected  if  he  were  permitted  to  remain  in  the 
household.  He  knew  also  that  her  one  chance  of 
escape  was  through  him;  as  perhaps  her  single  de 
sire  to  escape  was  on  his  account.  Therefore,  with 
a  superhuman  effort,  he  forced  himself  to  bland  at 
tention  to  Beltani  throughout  the  meal,  during  which 
the  entire  story  of  the  adventures  of  the  past  night 
was  recounted  at  length.  Charmides'  horror  at  what 
Ramua  had  been  through  was  equalled  by  his  shame 
and  self-reproach  at  having  slept  while  she,  with  Ba 
zuzu  and  Baniya,  had  stood  almost  at  his  side.  He 
made  no  comments  on  the  tale.  Only,  when  Beltani 
concluded  her  recital  with  the  information  that  at  sun 
set  on  this  very  day  Ribata  would  come  in  person  to 
bring  the  gold  and  to  take  Ramua  away,  Charmides, 
seeing  the  girl's  shiver  of  dread,  met  her  look  with  a 
smile  that  sent  the  first  glow  of  hope  back  to  her  heart. 
The  Greek  had  made  a  very  simple  and  feasible  plan, 
as  it  seemed  to  him.  Ramua  would  go  forth  that 


BABA  233 

morning  as  usual  with  her  flowers,  while  he  would 
set  out  towards  the  temple  of  Sin.  But  at  nightfall, 
when  Ribata  arrived  at  the  tenement  Ut,  with  his 
manehs  of  gold  to  exchange  for  a  soul,  Ramua,  for 
the  first  evening  of  her  life,  would  not  be  under  her 
mother's  roof.  Rather  he,  Charmides,  her  husband, 
would  keep  her  out  in  the  city,  wherever  he  chose  to 
lodge,  rightfully  and  lawfully,  and  with  her  full  con 
sent  ;  for  there  was  no  doubt  that  the  priest  of  Sin  would 
be  quite  willing  to  tie  the  marriage-cord  about  their 
wrists  for  such  a  sum  as  the  Greek  could  afford  to  pay 
out  of  the  still  unemptied  bag  of  his  father. 

Truly  it  was  a  pretty  scheme,  and  an  easy — so  obvi 
ously  easy,  indeed,  that  it  happened  to  occur  to  Bel- 
tani  also,  and  she  so  arranged  matters  that  Baba  was 
detailed  to  sell  the  flowers  on  the  steps  of  the  temple  of 
I  star,  while  Ramua  remained  at  home  under  her  moth 
er's  eye.  When,  at  the  usual  hour  for  the  departure 
of  the  workers,  this  forethought  was  displayed,  Char 
mides  began  to  realize  his  helplessness.  There  seemed 
nothing  to  do  but  to  go  forth  as  usual  to  the  temple, 
to  do  his  work  there,  to  fill  out  the  day  as  he  might, 
and  to  trust  to  the  love  of  Apollo  to  preserve  her  whom 
he  loved  from  the  fate  that  hung  over  her.  Between 
now  and  sunset  were  ten  round  hours.  Cities  had  been 
taken  in  less  time  than  that,  did  one  but  know  how 
to  set  about  it.  But  there  was  the  rub.  The  only 
thing  that  seemed  left  to  do — go  to  Ribata  himself 
with  an  appeal — was  a  manifest  absurdity.  Char 
mides  knew  enough  of  Babylonish  character  for 
that.  And  even  had  Ribata 's  reputation  as  a  roue 
and  a  roisterer  not  been  what  it  was,  still,  the  no 
tion  that  he  could  be  prevented  by  a  mere  nobody 
from  acquiring  a  beautiful  slave  in  such  a  simple 
manner,  was  something  that  a  man  of  Charmides' 
own  race  would  never  have  thought  of.  Ramua 
knew  this  as  well  as  Charmides.  She  said  good 
bye  to  him  in  the  door-way  of  the  tenement  Ut,  her 


234  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

mother  beside  her,  and  Baba  just  behind.  There 
was  no  more  than  a  long  look  and  his  miserable  whis 
per: 

"At  sunset  I  will  be  here." 

He  knew  that  she  quivered  at  the  mere  mention  of 
that  hour.  Then  he  turned  abruptly  away,  and  she 
could  only  watch  him  go. 

Charmides  went  straight  from  the  bank  of  the  canal 
to  the  temple  of  Sin,  by  a  much  shorter  way  than  that 
that  held  so  many  happy  memories  for  him.  He  must 
accustom  himself  now  to  take  his  walk  in  solitude. 
Never  before,  however,  had  he  realized  what  a  dreary 
distance  it  was.  The  city  lay  about  him,  spread  out 
in  all  its  filth,  ill-kept,  teeming  with  naked,  half-starved 
children,  noisy  with  mongrel  dogs,  rattling  with  buf 
falo-carts.  He  saw  to-day  only  the  wretchedest  and 
ugliest  sights.  His  own  heart  responded  to  the  wails 
of  every  child  throughout  the  endless  walk;  but  he 
reached  the  temple  a  half-hour  before  his  usual  time. 

The  mercy -hour  had  not  yet  come.  A  sacrifice, 
however,  was  in  progress,  and  the  officiating  priest 
called  to  him  to  play  while  the  augurs  began  their 
work.  He  saw  the  goat  quartered  and  its  flesh  cooked, 
while  the  entrails,  which  had  been  removed,  were  care 
fully  examined  for  any  special  omen  of  good  or  of 
evil  for  him  who  offered  the  sacrifice.  When  this  was 
over  the  Greek  retired  alone  to  the  sanctuary,  where, 
from  the  sacred  image,  he  was  to  listen  to  the  plaints 
of  those  that  came  to  seek  aid  in  trouble.  How  vain 
that  quest  was  he  knew  too  well.  Yet,  because  this 
was  a  consecrated  place,  the  Greek  knelt  to  his  own 
fair  god,  and  prayed  as  a  man  prays  once  in  his  life, 
for  Ramua,  her  honor,  and  his  happiness. 

When  finally  a  priest  came  to  him  and  opened  the 
door  in  the  back  of  the  statue,  Charmides'  heart  was  a 
little  lighter.  He  ascended  quickly  into  his  place,  where 
he  could  look  through  the  eyes  of  the  god  and  speak 
through  its  mouth  to  those  who  knelt  before  it.  Pres- 


BABA  235 

ently  came  a  woman  with  a  sick  child  in  her  arms. 
No  conjurer  had  been  able  to  help  her,  no  god  would 
take  pity  on  her.  Charmides  told  her  a  charm  that 
could  not  fail,  mentioned  the  price  of  the  information, 
and  sent  her  away.  Then  followed  in  rapid  succession 
a  stream  of  men  and  women,  each  with  a  tale  of  misery. 
By  this  time  the  Greek  knew  the  types  by  heart,  and, 
while  he  pitied,  he  was  wearied  by  them.  Which  of 
them  all  had  a  heart  as  sore  as  his  to-day?  Alas! 
Could  they  have  known  that  their  god  himself  stood 
in  the  shadow  of  despair's  black  wings,  would  they 
have  departed  from  him  serene  in  faith,  and  so  con 
fident  in  their  new-found  wisdom? 

However,  when  half  the  allotted  mercy-time  was 
over,  there  came  one  suppliant  who,  for  a  moment, 
took  the  Greek's  thought  from  himself.  A  man,  en 
tirely  muffled  in  a  dark  mantle,  his  head  covered  with 
such  a  cloth  as  desert-travellers  wear,  entered  the  se 
cluded  place  before  the  statue,  prostrated  himself  thrice 
before  it,  finally  lifted  his  head,  and,  throwing  the 
embroidered  cloth  back  from  his  face,  clasped  his  hands 
in  the  attitude  of  abject  supplication.  Charmides 
started  to  find  himself  gazing  into  the  deep-blue  eyes 
of  Belshazzar,  the  prince  royal. 

"May  Sin  look  mercifully  upon  me  from  the  high 
place,"  began  the  suppliant,  according  to  the  ritual. 

"  Mercifully  looks  Sin  upon  them  that  approach  him 
with  humble  hearts." 

"Father  Sin,  bring  peace  to  my  heart!" 

"Child  of  Sin,  peace  is  to  thee." 

"Hear  thou  the  woe  of  my  spirit.  Heal  me,  and 
guard  me  from  pain." 

"I  hear  thee.     Speak." 

Here  the  suppliant  began  in  his  own  words,  and 
Charmides  listened  eagerly  to  him;  for  Belshazzar, 
priest  as  he  was  by  birthright,  was  not  often  to  be 
found  at  the  mercy-seat  of  a  god  in  whom,  in  his  own 
heart,  he  could  have  no  faith.  How  far  he  had  been 


236  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

initiated  into  the  monstrous  deceits  of  the  church, 
however,  the  Greek  could  not  tell.  And  he  now  spoke 
with  a  humility  of  which  Charmides  had  not  deemed 
him  capable. 

"Great  Sin,  lord  of  men,  father  of  Ishtar  the  divine, 
hear  and  pity  me !  Tell  me,  I  beseech,  wherein  I  have 
angered  the  great  gods?  I  have  offended  my  goddess. 
With  me  my  goddess  is  exceeding  wroth.  I  kneel 
down  before  the  gate-way  of  the  temple  of  Istar,  and 
am  not  admitted  to  her.  I  am  become  unholy  higher 
eyes.  I  may  no  more  pass  over  the  threshold  of  E- Ana. 
The  Lady  Istar  knows  me  not.  0  god,  her  father, 
hear  my  prayer,  that  I  may  learn  how  I  shall  placate 
the  great  goddess  thy  child!  How  may  I  again  in 
peace  behold  her?  Bring  answer,  0  god,  to  my 
prayer!" 

Once  more  Belshazzar  touched  his  brow  to  the  floor, 
while  Charmides  watched  him  in  amazement.  For 
the  moment  he  forgot  to  listen  to  the  prompting  words 
of  the  priest  at  his  elbow.  But  when,  after  half  a 
phrase,  the  fellow  stopped  and  was  silent,  Charmides 
turned  to  look  at  him,  and  remained  fixed  in  aston 
ishment.  The  under  -  priest  was  in  the  throes  of  a 
frenzy  such  as  the  Greek  had  never  seen  before.  Bel 
shazzar,  kneeling  below,  waited  anxiously  for  his 
answer,  while  the  oracle  could  only  stand  there,  help 
lessly,  looking  at  the  priest  who  trembled  and  shook 
so  violently  that  his  joints  were  threatened  with  dis 
location.  Presently,  after  a  long  stillness,  when  the 
suppliant  had  become  not  a  little  impatient,  there 
came  from  the  mouth  of  the  Zicari  words  that  were 
not  of  his  making,  spoken  in  a  deep  and  sonorous 
voice  with  which  Charmides  was  quite  unfamiliar: 

"Belshazzar,  be  not  disturbed.  The  heart  of  Istar 
undergoeth  change.  Thine  hath  she  been;  thine  will 
be.  In  time,  of  her  own  will,  she  will  seek  thine  aid. 
Then,  by  the  might  of  thine  arm,  shalt  thou  pro 
tect  her,  and  cherish  her  unto  the  end.  Yet  a  little 


B  A  B  A  237 

while  and  that  end  cometh  for  both.  Therefore  go 
forth  in  peace,  and  wait  her  will." 

Silence  followed  these  words,  and  Belshazzar,  trem 
bling  with  strange  emotion,  touched  his  brow  to  the 
floor,  and  rose,  and  wrent  his  way.  Charmides  turned 
from  him  back  to  the  priest,  who  stood  beside  him  in  a 
normal  attitude,  and  said,  presently: 

"Reply  thus  to  the  suppliant:  'Thou  must  sacrifice 
to  the  Lady  Istar,  in  her  temple,  fifty  fat  oxen  and 
one  hundred  goodly  lambs.  By  this  shalt  thou  be 
brought  back  into  the  favor  of  Istar,  the  child  of  my 
heart.  Sin  hath  spoken.  Arise.  Go  thy  way." 

And  Charmides,  wondering  more  and  more,  repeated 
the  words,  as  he  was  bidden,  to  the  empty  air.  The 
temple  of  Istar  had  lost  a  hecatomb;  but  Belshazzar 
had,  perhaps,  been  won  to  faith  in  his  native  gods. 

At  the  end  of  the  mercy-hour  the  Greek  left  the  tem 
ple  as  usual,  and  went  forth  into  the  streets.  He  did 
not  turn  to  the  square  of  Istar.  It  were  too  miserably 
empty  for  him  to-day.  Rather  he  set  off  in  another 
direction,  wandering  drearily  along.  And  how  the 
long  hours  of  noon  and  the  afternoon  slipped  away, 
he  hardly  knew.  His  unhappiness  took  no  heed 
of  time ;  for,  all  of  a  sudden,  time  had  become  worth 
less  to  him.  It  was  just  one  hour  to  sunset  when  he 
turned  his  steps  southward  towards  the  canal  of  the 
New  Year. 

Meantime,  while  the  Greek  had  wandered  through 
unfamiliar  quarters  of  the  city,  Baba  had  sat  all  day 
on  the  steps  of  the  temple  of  Istar,  with  Ramua's  flow 
ers  in  her  lap.  Of  the  three  young  people  who  passed 
those  unhappy  hours  in  brooding  over  the  general 
misfortune,  it  was  the  youngest  that  endured  most, 
and  had  suffered  most  acutely.  Baba  had  to  review 
the  situation  of  her  family  always  hopelessly  for 
herself,  sometimes  not  without  hope  for  the  cause  of 
her  sister  and  Charmides.  Child  as  she  was,  Baba 
loved  Charmides  with  a  love  to  the  heights  of  which 


238  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Ramua  could  not  have  risen.  For,  for  the  happiness 
of  him  whom  she  loved,  the  woman-child  was  willing 
to  renounce  him,  to  give  him  up  to  another,  though 
by  that  act  her  own  life  was  spoiled  forever.  From 
the  first  moment  of  seeing  Ramua  and  Charmides 
together,  she,  with  the  quick  perception  of  one  who 
loves  unloved,  had  foreseen  the  end.  Never  once,  after 
the  night  of  their  first  meal  on  the  roof  of  the  tenement, 
had  she  rebelled  at  this  fact.  Her  resignation  was 
absolute.  It  had  even  been  a  little  comfort  to  her  to 
dream  of  her  sister's  happiness,  of  the  wedded  home 
in  which  she,  Baba,  might  hold  a  definite  place.  That 
she  might  continue  to  see  Charmides,  and  to  hear  his 
voice  day  by  day,  was  all  that  she  had  asked.  But 
now  it  seemed  that  this,  too,  might  be  taken  from  her. 
She  saw  Ramua,  a  slave,  secluded  deep  in  the  labyrinth 
of  Ribata's  inaccessible  palace;  Charmides  departed, 
in  his  grief,  back  to  his  dim,  distant  home;  herself 
and  her  mother  left  alone,  to  toil  through  the  endless 
days,  living  only  on  the  memories  of  a  doubtful  hap 
piness  that  was  hopelessly  gone. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  in  her  imaginings  that  Baba 
began  to  rebel.  Ribata  should  not  have  her  sister, 
though  he  perished  by  her  own  hand  there  in  the  ten 
ement  of  Ut.  This  resolve  she  made  at  a  little  past 
noon;  and  she  looked  up  from  the  vow  to  find  my 
Lord  Ribata  about  three  feet  away,  regarding  her. 

"By  Nebo,  maid,"  said  he,  "thou  art  not  she  who 
came  last  night  into  my  garden  1" 

"Nay,  verily,  lord." 

"Yet  these  be  the  flowers  that  my  hands  plucked 
for  her  who  becomes  mine  to-day.  Who  art  thou, 
girl?" 

"Baba,  I/  was  the  answer,  as  the  child  lifted  her 
elfin  face  and  dog-like  eyes  to  the  man. 

"Baba!  And  she  —  the  pretty  one  —  is  Ramua. 
What  is  she  to  thee?" 

"A  sister." 


B  A  B  A  239 

"Ah!  And  you  sell  her  flowers  while  she  waits 
at  home  for  me!  Then  give  me  of  my  roses,  Baba, 
and  I  will  pay  for  them." 

As  he  spoke,  he  picked  two  crirnson-petalled  blos 
soms  from  the  tray,  tossed  a  shekel  into  the  girl's  lap, 
and  passed  on,  laughing,  while  Baba  stared  after 
him,  just  realizing  the  opportunity  that  had  come — 
and  gone.  Had  she  only  killed  him  as  he  stood  be 
fore  her  there,  with  the  little  weapon  that  she  carried 
always  in  her  girdle,  who,  in  the  excitement  of  the 
moment,  would  have  thought  of  her  family?  She 
would  have  been  carried  off  at  once  before  the  royal 
judges,  have  been  speedily  condemned,  and  prob 
ably  taken  straight  from  the  court  to  her  death. 
But  to  kill  Ribata  in  the  tenement  was  a  different 
matter.  It  would  implicate  every  member  of  her  fam 
ily:  Charmides,  as  well  as  Ramua  and  her  mother. 
Undoubtedly  some  desperate  chance  must  be  run 
to-day,  but  how  or  when  Baba  did  not  know.  It 
would  probably  be  left  for  the  exigencies  of  the  sun 
set  hour. 

That  hour  was  approaching.  Baba  watched  it  come, 
dreading  it  as  much  as  did  Charmides,  and  more  than 
Ramua.  Ramua,  indeed,  had  been  singularly  dull  all 
day.  The  grief  that  she  suffered  was  not  poignant. 
It  was  as  heavy  and  as  lustreless  as  only  despair 
can  be.  The  fact  that  this  was  her  last  day  of  youth, 
of  freedom,  of  love,  of  maidenhood,  her  last  day  in 
her  home,  the  last  day,  in  fine,  of  the  life  she  had 
been  born  to,  was  something  that  overwhelmed  her 
completely,  and  made  sharp  realization  impossible. 
She  followed  her  mother  obediently  about  the  house. 
She  bathed  the  wounds  of  Bazuzu,  who  hid  his  face 
from  her  touch.  And  the  only  tears  that  she  shed 
were  over  Zor,  Baba's  goat,  which  had  stayed  at 
home  to-day,  and  had  eaten  its  noon  meal  from  her 
hand.  At  the  touch  of  the  creature's  tongue  Ra 
mua  gave  way  for  a  few  seconds.  But  she  recov- 


240  1STAR    OF    BABYLON 

ered  herself  quickly,  and  presented  an  impassive  face 
when,  a  few  minutes  later,  her  mother  came  down 
from  the  roof. 

Ramua  also  watched  the  sun;  but  in  her  case  it 
was  more  to  know  when  she  might  be  expecting  Char- 
mides  than  anything  else.  Baba  and  the  Greek  ar 
rived  somewhat  before  the  time,  within  five  minutes 
of  each  other.  Baba  had  a  scolding  because  four 
of  the  flower  bouquets  remained  in  her  basket  unsold. 
She  made  her  peace  by  producing  Ribata 's  silver 
shekel,  forbearing,  however,  to  tell  who  had  bestowed 
it  upon  her.  After  this  little,  indecisive  skirmish, 
there  was  stillness  in  the  lower  room  of  the  tenement 
of  Ut.  All  the  family,  Zor  included,  were  gathered 
there  together.  Ramua  sat  at  Baba's  side  on  one  of 
the  beds.  Beltani  knelt  near  the  door-way,  grinding 
sesame  in  a  mortar.  The  slave  Bazuzu  wove  on  at 
his  baskets ;  while  Zor  lay  comfortably  at  the  feet  of 
Charmides,  who,  very  pale  and  silent,  sat  on  his  pal 
let  on  the  darkest  side  of  the  room. 

The  sun  reached  the  horizon  line — and  passed  it. 
The  evening  flung  out  her  victorious  banners  of  pur 
ple,  crimson,  and  gold.  Still  no  Ribata.  Ramua 
lifted  her  head  at  short  intervals,  to  look  across  the 
empty  space  that  stretched  out  from  the  open  door. 
Charmides'  heart  palpitated  so  that  breathing  be 
came  difficult.  There  seemed  to  be  a  hope  on  which 
he  had  not  calculated.  Ribata  might  have  repented 
of  his  bargain  and  not  come  for  the  girl.  This  idea 
occurred  to  Beltani  also,  perhaps,  for  presently  she 
rose  from  her  labor,  set  the  grain-jar  aside,  and  hur 
ried  out  of  the  door  to  look  down  the  lane  towards  the 
canal.  When  she  re-entered  the  room  the  look  of  smug 
satisfaction  on  her  face  was  easy  to  read.  Charmides' 
heart  ceased  to  beat  as  she  bustled  over  to  Ramua, 
stood  her  up,  examined  her  with  the  greatest  care 
from  head  to  heels,  fastened  in  a  flying  lock,  saw  that 
her  poor  tunic  was  straight,  and  that  the  garland  on 


BABA  241 

her  head  contained  no  withered  leaf — for  this  might 
be  considered  a  most  unfortunate  omen.  She  was 
still  fingering  her  daughter  when  there  was  a  clatter 
of  yellow  wheels  outside,  a  prancing  of  glossy  steeds 
on  the  hard  pavement,  and  Ribata,  in  his  most  re 
splendent  chariot,  drew  rein  at  the  door  of  the  tene 
ment  of  Ut. 

Beltani's  pride  knew  no  bounds.  She  saw  in  her 
heart  how  every  soul  in  the  neighborhood  was  eager 
ly  peering  out  from  its  corner  to  look  at  her  door,  where, 
this  time,  no  mere  steward-collector  of  rent  had  stopped, 
but  my  lord  of  them  all,  in  golden  attire,  was  come 
to  pay  .them  a  visit.  As  he  dismounted  from  the 
vehicle  and  entered  the  room,  Beltani  was  nearly 
on  her  knees  to  him,  though  Ramua,  from  her  dark 
and  shadowy  corner,  shrank  back  as  far  as  she  could. 
Charmides,  scowling  bitterly,  and  so  pale  that  his 
face  made  a  white  spot  in  the  gloom  where  he  sat, 
clenched  his  two  fists,  but  made  no  sound.  Bazuzu's 
fingers  dropped  from  his  work,  while  he  craned  his 
neck  to  examine  the  enemy. 

Ribata  saluted  his  hostess  in  his  most  elegant  man 
ner,  asked  carefully  after  her  welfare,  wished  her 
health  and  fortune  in  the  name  of  Bel-Marduk,  and 
then  casually,  without  too  much  interest,  inquired  for 
the  object  of  his  quest. 

"The  fair  one,  the  Lady  Ramua,  the  flower  of  my 
heart,  let  mine  eyes  behold  her,  0  mother  of  lilies!" 
said  he,  with  a  manner  that  matched  his  words. 

"Ramua!"  called  Beltani,  gently — " Ramua,  greet 
thy  lord!" 

The  girl,  trembling  like  a  frightened  rabbit,  the 
fire  of  despair  burning  in  her  large  eyes,  rose  from 
her  place  and  came  haltingly  down  the  room.  Never, 
perhaps,  had  she  been  more  beautiful  than  in  this 
wretched  hour.  Charmides  knew  it.  Ribata,  who 
watched  her  every  move,  gave  perceptible  signs  of 
pleasure.  Bowing  before  her  as  he  might  have  bowed 

16 


242  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

to  the  queen  of  Babj^lon,  he  lifted  one  of  her  cold  and 
unresisting  hands  to  his  lips.  It  had  scarcely  reached 
them  when,  with. a  suddenness  that  startled  Ribata, 
Ramua's  hand  was  snatched  away.  She  was  push 
ed  violently  backward,  and  my  Lord  Bit-Shumukin. 
found  himself  eye  to  eye  with  Charmides  of  Doric  Se- 
linous. 

The  Greek  was  choking  with  rage,  with  excitement, 
with  biting  jealousy.  For  a  moment  after  his  act  he 
could  not  speak.  Ribata  regarded  him  with  frown 
ing  amazement.  He  said  nothing,  however,  till  Char 
mides,  with  a  convulsive  breath,  opened  his  lips  and 
began,  very  quietly : 

"My  Lord  Ribata—" 

"Knave!"  thundered  my  lord,  finding  his  voice. 
"Out  of  my  way!"  He  lifted  his  hand  to  strike,  but 
Charmides  rather  nonplussed  him  by  awaiting  the 
blow  without  a  movement.  He  merely  stood,  white- 
faced  and  unflinching,  looking  Ribata  in  the  eyes. 

"My  Lord  Ribata,"  he  repeated,  still  more  gently, 
"  I  beg  you  as  a  man,  as  one  of  the  judges  of  the  Great 
City,  to  hear  me.  This  lady  whom  you  would  pur 
chase  for  gold  to  be  your  slave  is  my  promised  wife." 

"Are  you  wedded?"  asked  Ribata,  quickly. 

"No,  no,  no!"  screamed  Beltani,  .shrilly,  hurrying 
forward. 

"No,"  admitted  Charmides,  with  that  extreme  of 
calm  that  held  Ribata 's  attention  in  spite  of  himself. 
"No.  She  is  but  my  promised  wife." 

"He  lies,  my  lord!" 

"  But  can  I  see  her  whom  I  love  taken  from  me  with 
out  one  word?  Nay,  verily,  it  must  be  over  a  lifeless 
body  that  Ramua  goes  to  you." 

It  was  all  the  plea  that  Charmides  could  make;  yet 
perhaps  it  had  stood  him  in  good  stead  if  Beltani 
had  not  been  there.  She,  flashing-eyed  and  furiously 
angry,  cried  loudly: 

"My  lord!     My  lord!     This  man  lies!     He  is  no 


B  A  B  A  243 

suitor  to  my  daughter.  She  shall  not  call  him  lord 
though  you  cast  her  away.  I  say  it,  and  I  am  her 
mother.  Behold,  he  came  a  stranger  into  my  house, 
and  I  sheltered  and  fed  him.  Thus  does  he  repay  the 
charity.  My  lord,  wilt  thou  take  Ramua?" 

Ribata  listened  to  her  quite  as  attentively  as  to  Char- 
mides.  The  situation  puzzled  him  not  a  little.  Many 
and  varied  as  his  experiences  had  been,  he  had  never 
met  with  one  like  this.  His  official  nature,  as  one  of 
the  judges  of  the  royal  court,  came  up  and  stood  him 
in  good  stead  now.  Having  heard  both  sides  of  the 
case,  he  turned,  for  corroboration  of  the  one  or  the 
other,  to  the  principal  factor  in  the  whole  matter — Ra 
mua  herself. 

"Maid,  what  sayest  thou  to  all  this?  Wilt  thou 
come  to  me  in  peace,  and  willingly?"  he  asked. 

Ramua 's  answer  was  not  encouraging  to  his  hopes. 
She  moved  forward  a  little,  still  trembling,  the  sudden 
hope  of  release  lighting  up  her  gray  pallor.  She  did 
not  reply  to  the  question  in  words,  but  sank  to  her 
knees  on  the  floor  at  Ribata 's  feet,  her  hands  upraised 
and  clasped,  the  pleading  in  her  face  too  easy  to  read. 
Not  Beltani's  daughter,  this. 

Ribata  gazed  at  her  in  pronounced  admiration. 
Suddenly  he  coughed,  turned  on  his  heel,  and  began 
to  pace  up  and  down  the  narrow  space  before  the  door, 
head  bent,  brows  contracted.  Charmides  knew  well 
enough  all  that  was  in  his  heart,  but  he  mightily  feared 
the  outcome  of  the  debate.  Nevertheless,  the  very 
fact  that  there  could  be  a  debate  considerably  raised 
Ribata  in  his  estimation.  Even  as  he  thought,  Char 
mides  prepared  himself  for  a  further  and  greater  strug 
gle.  If  Ribata  decided  against  him,  if  Ramua  went 
forth  with  the  man,  it  should  be,  as  he  himself  had 
said,  over  his,  Charmides',  dead  body.  Therefore 
he  quietly  loosened  from  its  place  the  short,  broad 
knife  that  had  travelled  with  him  from  home,  and 
with  this  in  his  right  hand,  lying  along  the  under-side 


244 

of  his  wrist,  he  stood  leaning  against  the  door,  watch 
ing  the  death  of  the  bright  sunset  in  the  west,  the  gay 
chariot  with  its  rearing  horses  in  front  of  the  door, 
and,  finally,  the  group  in  the  room  with  him.  No 
one  spoke.  Ribata  alone  moved. 

At  length  my  lord's  head  gave  a  quick  jerk,  and  he 
turned  briskly  towards  Beltani: 

"Mother  of  fair  women,  is  thy  daughter  Ramua 
ready  to  follow  me?  There  lie  in  my  chariot  certain 
bags  of  golden  coin  that  I  have  brought  for  thee;  not 
that  these  could  be  any  payment  for  a  thing  so  price 
less  as  thy  child;  but  they  shall  go  to  show  the  love 
that  I  bear  thee  for  her  sake." 

Beltani  grew  radiant.  Here,  certainly,  was  no  in- 
determination.  "Ramua!"  she  cried.  "Go  thou  in 
stantly  to  my  lord !  He  will  take  thee  into  the  land  of 
happiness." 

Ramua  obeyed  her  mother's  words  by  moving  swiftly 
to  Charmides'  side,  laying  one  light  hand  on  his  arm, 
and  saying,  quietly:  "Behold  my  lord!  Him  will  I 
follow  forever,  into  Mulge  and  Ninkigal,  or  up  to  the 
silver  sky,  as  Marduk  decrees." 

Charmides,  looking  into  her  face,  smiled  at  her  with 
his  soul  in  his  eyes.  Then  he  turned  again  to  Ribata. 
"My  lord,"  he  said,  "thou  hearest.  Thou  wilt  not 
take  her  from  her  heart;  and  her  heart  is  with  me." 

"By  Nebo  and  Bel,  I  will  take  her!"  cried  Ribata, 
furious  at  last.  "Do  I  not  buy  her?  She  is  my  chattel. 
You,  foreigner,  can,  at  my  word,  be  slain  like  a  dog!" 
With  a  heavy  stride,  and  a  mien  that  had  more  than 
menace  in  it,  he  strode  over  to  where  Ramua  stood 
cowering  at  Charmides'  shoulder. 

He  had  put  out  his  arm  to  grasp  her,  and  the  knife 
became  visible  in  Charmides'  hand,  when  suddenly 
there  was  a  faint  exclamation  from  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  and  a  little  figure  came  running  forward,  and 
projected  itself  in  a  heap  at  Ribata's  feet. 

My  lord  paused  and   looked   down  into  an  elflike 


B  A  B  A  245 

face,  with  a  pair  of  wide-open,  black  eyes,  and  a  little 
mouth  of  rosy  hue,  parted  just  so  as  to  show  a  row  of 
snowy  teeth.  Masses  of  unbound  hair  hung  loosely 
around  her  head  and  neck.  Beneath  her  tattered 
vestment  the  lines  of  a  remarkably  graceful  little 
body  could  be  discerned.  Ribata,  looking  at  her 
steadfastly  for  a  moment,  found  something  in  her 
face  that  caused  his  own  to  relax  its  unpleasant  ex 
pression. 

"Thou  art — Baba — I"  he  said,  with  a  recognizable 
imitation  of  her  way  of  speaking,  and  an  ensuing  grin 
at  his  success. 

"My  lord  remembers!"  said  Baba,  with  every  ap 
pearance  of  coquettish  delight. 

Ribata  laughed  as  he  touched  a  scarlet  rose  on  his 
embroidered  tunic.  "I  remember — sprite,"  he  said. 

"  My  lord,  I  am  Baba,  the  sister  of  Ramua.  I  have 
no  lover  nor  husband.  Behold,  were  my  lord  to  ask 
it,  I  am  my  lord's.  Let  him  take  me  in  Ramua 's  place 
for  half  the  gold  that  he  offers  for  her!" 

Ribata,  Beltani,  Ramua,  most  of  all  Charmides, 
stared  at  Baba  in  open  amazement  at  her  shameless 
suggestion.  All  of  them  judged  her  exactly  according 
to  her  words.  Only  one  in  the  room  guessed  at  the 
real  reason  for  this  unparalleled  act,  and  he,  know 
ing  that  reason,  wept  and  loved  her.  Bazuzu,  who 
had  long  ago  realized  the  great,  concealed  sorrow  in 
her  life,  was  capable  now  of  appreciating  her  un 
bounded  devotion,  and  in  his  secret  heart  he  hated 
Ramua  for  the  innocent  part  that  she  played  in  this 
pitiable  drama. 

Ribata,  his  thoughts  quite  turned  out  of  their  angry 
channel,  looked  for  a  long  time  down  into  the  lively, 
witchlike  face,  and  finally  a  smile  parted  his  severe  lips. 

"Good  Beltani,  hearest  thou  thy  daughter?" 

"My  lord,  I  have  heard  her,"  returned  the  woman, 
in  a  subdued  fashion,  not  sure  that  Baba  had  not  found 
the  real  solution  of  their  difficult  problem. 


246  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"And  thy  words,  woman?" 

"May  my  lord  accomplish  his  will,"  she  replied, 
disclaiming  all  further  responsibility. 

My  lord,  who  by  this  time  began  to  find  himself 
not  absolutely  certain  of  his  will,  bit  his  lip  and  looked 
thoughtfully  from  Baba  to  Ramua,  and  back  again. 
The  goat-girl  sat  at  his  feet,  curled  up  like  a  kitten, 
her  eyes  staring  unwinkingly  into  his  face,  her  lips 
pressed  together  in  apparent  anxiety.  Her  whole  en 
semble  struck  Ribata  as  peculiarly  pleasing.  Ramua 
was  hiding  her  face  from  his  gaze,  and  certainly  her 
figure  was  not  so  graceful  as  that  of  her  sister.  Baba 
was  not  pretty,  in  the  correct  sense  of  the  word;  but 
Baba,  he  felt,  would  not  weep  for  another  in  his  pres 
ence. 

"Straighten  thy  garments,  bold  one,  and  rise  up. 
Thou  shalt  come  with  me/'  he  said,  suddenly,  with  a 
half  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

Ramua  quivered,  whether  with  delight  or  displeas 
ure  she  scarcely  knew.  At  any  rate,  it  was  not  to 
Baba  that  she  turned.  Baba  was  strange  to  her,  all 
of  a  sudden ;  was  some  one  to  pity,  perhaps,  but  also 
to  be  ashamed  for.  Her  good-bye  to  her  sister  was 
reluctant  and  very  gentle,  but  not  warm.  Beltani, 
satisfied,  now  that  one  daughter  had  found  wealth  and 
the  other  a  husband,  kissed  her  little  one  light-heart 
edly.  Black  Bazuzu  pressed  his  lips  to  each  of  her 
bare  feet,  feeling  her  quite  as  worthy  of  the  homage 
as  his  sovereign  could  be.  Last  of  all,  on  her  way 
out  of  the  house  of  her  childhood,  Baba  passed  Char- 
mides.  His  blue  eyes  looked  into  hers  for  an  instant 
with  an  expression  of  puzzled  distaste.  She  had 
won  for  him  his  life's  happiness.  This  was  all  his 
thanks.  Baba  knew  his  mind,  and  a  dull,  half-hu 
man  smile  crept  over  her  face — a  smile  that  Ribata 
would  not  have  thought  pretty  had  he  been  watching 
her  just  then.  On  the  threshold  of  the  door,  however, 
Zor  was  standing;  and  as  she  perceived  her  goat, 


B  A  B  A  247 

which  she  had  always  loved  better  than  she  loved  her 
self,  she  suddenly  seized  the  creature  by  its  silken 
hair  and  gave  it  a  wrench  that  drew  from  Zor  a  long 
bleat  of  indignation.  Ribata,  catching  this  proceed 
ing  on  the  part  of  his  new  possession,  laughed  deeply. 
Here,  at  last,  was  something  original. 

Day  had  crept  in  upon  Baba  in  her  new  home  be 
fore,  at  last,  she  could  turn  her  face  to  the  wall  of  her 
luxurious  prison-house,  and  wail  out  her  little  agony 
alone,  in  the  pale,  golden  light  of  the  new  dawn. 


IX 
BABYLON    BY    NIGHT 

B ABA'S  departure  into  her  new  life  left  an  unex 
pectedly  large  gap  in  the  household  of  the 
tenement.  The  child's  personality  had  been  very 
strong ;  and  though  she  had  been  little  heard,  little 
seen  even,  she  had  been  much  felt.  Charmides  es 
pecially  found  this  true.  He  had  always  believed, 
when  he  played  and  sang  for  himself  at  home,  that 
Ramua's  presence  had  given  him  the  support  of  un 
derstanding  and  sympathy.  He  was  scarcely  will 
ing  to  admit,  even  to  himself,  that,  in  the  absence 
of  Baba,  the  pleasure  of  improvisation  had  mate 
rially  lessened.  Baba's  action  in  going  to  Ribata 
he  still  misunderstood.  But  as  time  passed  and  the 
want  of  her  was  as  strong  as  ever,  she  came  gradu 
ally  to  assume  in  his  mind  a  place  that  she  had 
dreamed  of  filling  but  had  never  hoped  to  attain. 

Though  Baba  was  at  liberty  to  visit  her  home,  if 
she  chose,  during  the  four  or  five  hours  at  mid-day, 
when  her  lord  would  never  demand  her  presence,  she 
had  the  strength  to  withstand  the  temptation,  know 
ing  that  by  such  visits  her  unhappiness  would  be 
greater  than  ever.  Her  homesickness  was  pitiable 
enough.  She  managed  to  conceal  it  from  the  eyes 
of  the  curious  very  well.  Her  tears  would  never  flow 
when  any  one  was  near.  But  by  day  and  by  night 
the  iron  entered  into  her  soul;  and  as  day  followed 
day,  the  weight  of  the  hours  past,  and  yet  more  the 
presage  of  those  to  come,  crushed  her  spirit  with  a 


BABYLON    BY    NIGHT  249 

merciless  slowness.  Baba  was  too  young  to  realize 
the  healing  power  of  time,  how  it  bears  forgetfulness 
on  its  kindly  wings,  how  its  shadow  becomes  finally 
a  shield  by  which  the  keen  daggers  of  remembrance 
are  blunted  and  turned  aside.  She  did  not  know  that 
the  human  soul  can  suffer  only  so  far.  Her  capacity 
seemed  infinite.  She  appeared  to  have  entered  into  an 
eternally  dreary  land,  the  boundless  valley  of  shadow. 
She  wept  till  tears  were  gone.  Day  renewed  the  mis 
ery  that  night  confirmed.  Finally,  when  she  had 
come  to  dream  wildly  of  death  as  the  one  desirable 
thing,  the  limit  of  her  unhappiness  was  reached  and 
the  tide  turned.  The  beginning  of  the  change  for  the 
better  was  made  by  the  appearance  of  Zor,  her  be 
loved  goat,  who  had  mourned  for  her  mistress  so  con 
tinually  that  life  in  the  neighborhood  with  her  became 
impossible,  and  finally  Bazuzu  carried  the  creature  to 
the  gates  of  Ribata's  palace,  and  commanded  the 
magnificent  slaves  of  the  portal  to  carry  it  instantly 
to  the  Lady  Baba.  The  Lady  Baba  being,  at  the 
moment,  an  unconscious  but  none  the  less  real  power 
in  my  lord's  household,  Bazuzu  was  obeyed  with 
alacrity,  and  the  eunuch  that  led  the  animal  into  the 
court-yard,  where  Baba  lay  alone  upon  her  cushions, 
could  only  stand  in  open-mouthed  astonishment  to 
see  that  lady  run  forward,  screaming  with  delight, 
throw  her  arms  about  the  animal's  neck,  and  clasp 
it  to  her  heart  with  a  warmth  that  my  lord  had  never 
discovered  in  her. 

Zor  herself  baaed  with  joy ;  and,  having  completely 
forgotten  the  anything  but  affectionate  parting  of  two 
weeks  before,  put  her  nose  to  her  mistress'  cheek  and 
loudly  sounded  her  pleasure. 

Baba  always  remembered  this  meeting  as  the  first 
ray  of  light  in  her  gloomy  existence.  Little  by  little, 
now,  the  luxury  of  her  new  home  began  to  grow  more 
worthy  in  her  eyes,  when  she  contrasted  it  with  the 
squalor  of  her  childhood's  home.  Little  by  little,  as  the 


250  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

feeling  of  silken  garments  became  more  familiar,  she 
lost  the  craving  for  her  rags,  and  the  hair  that  could 
fall  in  unrebuked  tangles  round  her  face.  The  courts, 
the  halls,  and  the  rooms  of  Ribata's  beautiful  abode,  no 
longer  looked  vast,  barren,  and  tomblike  to  her  eyes. 
Ribata  himself  was  not  an  object  of  terror  now.  He 
had  always  been  gentle,  always  kind,  with  her.  This, 
long  ago,  she  had  begun  to  realize.  And  now,  at 
length,  a  visit  to  the  tenement  began-  to  seem  pos 
sible — desirable.  Bazuzu,  indeed,  had  come  to  see  her 
more  than  once,  to  bring  her  her  mother's  love,  and  to 
say  that  she  and  Ramua  would  see  her  as  soon  as  she 
could  come.  Ramua  was  very  busy  and  very  happy. 
Her  wedding  with  Charmides  was  to  be  celebrated 
before  the  first  rains  of  Tasritu  (September),  and  it 
was  now  well  along  in  Ululu,  the  last  of  summer.  Baba 
heard  the  news  without  surprise,  but  determined  to 
wait  till  the  knot  was  tied  before  she  went  back  to  see 
her  home. 

The  time  came  soon  enough.  It  was  not  quite  three 
months  after  the  Greek's  first  sight  of  the  Great  City 
that  he  took  up  that  city  as  his  abode  for  life,  bound 
to  it  by  every  tie  that  can  bind  a  man  to  his  home. 
Throughout  his  wedding-day,  with  its  quaint  cere 
monies  and  its  high  feasting,  Charmides'  mind  was 
upon  his  mother  and  her  distant  land.  Could  she 
only  know  his  wife,  see  her  for  an  hour,  behold  her 
pretty  gentleness,  and  read  her  great  love  for  him, 
Charmides  felt  that  Heraia  would  rejoice  with  him. 
But,  as  it  was,  through  this,  the  most  important  day 
of  his  life,  the  youth  was  rather  silent  and  grave,  save 
when  Ramua  looked  at  him  with  her  shy,  inquiring 
smile. 

The  wedding  ceremony  was  long  and  fatiguing. 
It  meant  prayer  and  purification  in  the  morning  be 
fore  the  assembled  images  of  the  gods.  Then  there 
was  the  procession  to  the  nearest  temple,  the  signing 
of  contracts,  the  giving  of  Ramua's  hard-won  dower 


BABYLON    BY    NIGHT  251 

by  Beltani,  and  Charmides'  reverent  pledge  to  sup 
port,  protect,  and  cherish  his  wife  so  long  as  she  should 
remain  faithful  to  him.  Then  his  wrist  and  hers  were 
bound  together  with  a  woollen  cord,  a  prayer  was 
chanted,  there  was  a  great  blare  of  trumpets  and  clash 
ing  of  cymbals,  a  public  proclamation  that  Charmides 
had  taken  unto  himself  Ramua,  the  daughter  of  Bel 
tani  of  the  tenement  of  Ut,  and  then,  at  last,  the  sacri 
fice.  The  chief  portion  of  the  animals  slaughtered 
was  carried  to  the  house  of  the  bride  for  the  wedding 
feast,  which  lasted  as  long  as  the  food  held  out. 

Not  till  early  evening  did  Charmides  find  himself 
alone.  The  guests  had  departed,  and  Ramua  and 
her  mother  were  up-staiVs  in  the  little  room  that  Char 
mides  had  taken  for  Ramua  and  himself  on  the  top 
floor  of  the  tenement.  The  Greek  seated  himself  on  a 
stool  in  the  door-way  of  the  living-room,  watching  the 
sunset,  that  poured,  a  river  of  living  gold,  over  the  lane 
and  square  before  him.  The  thought  of  Sicily  and 
his  family  there  was  with  him  still ;  and  he  tried,  for  a 
little  while,  to  be  alone  by  the  sea  with  his  parents 
and  his  brother.  With  all  his  soul  he  prayed  to  Apollo 
for  happiness  in  the  new  life,  for  forgiveness  of  any 
past  wrong,  for  a  blessing  for  his  wife,  and  a  continuous 
renewal  of  their  love  for  each  other.  Then  between 
him  and  Ramua  came  the  thought  of  little  Baba. 
Her  life  was  dishonorable,  despicable,  in  his  eyes; 
yet  it  was  she  that  had  saved  him  either  from  a  great 
crime  or  the  loss  of  that  that  was  dearest  to  him.  Did 
she  know  of  her  sister's  wedding?  If  she  knew,  why 
had  she  not  come  to  it?  There  w7as  no  telling.  But, 
in  any  case,  he  thought  of  her  very  kindly  to-night, 
as  he  sat  alone  with  the  gathering  dusk. 

Charmides'  head  was  bent  with  abstraction  and  he 
was  no  longer  looking  at  the  square  before  him.  Pres 
ently  a  four-footed  creature  ran  against  his  knee  and 
laid  its  head  there.  He  looked  up  quickly,  to  find  Zor 
at  his  side  and  Baba  in  the  square.  She  came  towards 


252  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

him  through  the  twilight  like  a  wraith,  in  her  trailing, 
silken  garments,  with  her  hair  piled  up  on  her  small 
head  in  a  crown  of  black  braids  fastened  with  wrought 
golden  pins.  Beneath  the  dark  hair  her  face  looked 
very  pale  and  pointed.  It  was  infinitely  different 
from  the  face  he  had  known.  There  was  no  longer 
anything  of  the  child  in  it.  The  elf-look  was  gone. 
In  its  place  was  an  expression  of  gentle  weariness,  of 
patience,  of  long-suffering  that  affected  the  Greek 
strangely.  As  she  came  closer  he  looked  her  full  in 
the  eyes,  and,  with  one  of  his  old,  shining  smiles,  held 
out  both  hands  to  her. 

Baba  had  steeled  herself  to  meet  any  greeting,  but 
this  was  the  one  that  came  nearest  to  breaking  down 
her  self-control.  She  managed  to  answer  the  look 
steadily;  and  no  one,  least  of  all  Charmides,  could 
have  dreamed  how  her  heart  was  bleeding.  She  gave 
him  her  hands,  and  he  saw  what  she  carried  in  one  of 
them. 

"For  Ramua 's  bridal,"  she  said,  placing  on  his 
knee  a  long,  golden  chain  of  Phoenician  workman 
ship.  It  was  far  more  valuable  than  anything  Ramua 
had  dreamed  of  possessing;  and  Charmides,  exam 
ining  the  fine  wrork  on  the  metal  links,  said  so  to  her. 

Baba  dropped  her  eyes.  "It  was  from  my  lord  to 
me,"  she  said.  "But  it  is  my  hand  that  brings  it  to 
Ramua.  Thou  wilt  let  her  wear  it — for  me — Char 
mides?"  The  tone  was  doubtful. 

Much  as  he  might  not  have  desired  it,  the  Greek 
could  not  refuse  her.  "Ramua  is  above.  Go  thou 
and  make  thy  costly  gift  to  her  thyself,  Baba." 

Baba  bent  her  head,  accepting  the  dismissal  with 
the  unquestioning  obedience  that  she  had  had  instilled 
into  her  all  her  life  through.  While  she  mounted  to 
her  sister,  to  hear  the  tale  of  that  sister's  perfect 
happiness,  Charmides  sat  him  down  again,  the  cur 
rent  of  his  thoughts  quite  changed ;  his  dreams  all  of 
the  new  life,  no  longer  of  the  old. 


BABYLON    BY    NIGHT  253 

One  week  and  then  another  passed  away.  The 
rains  had  come  upon  the  land,  and  all  Babylon  re 
joiced  that  the  fiery  summer  was  over.  Wonderful 
and  terrifying  were  these  rains.  Sometimes,  for  six 
hours  at  a  stretch,  the  skies  would  open  wide,  and  all 
the  waters  of  the  upper  air  descend  upon  the  earth  in 
such  floods  that,  by  the  time  they  had  passed  away, 
and  Raman  and  his  demons  ceased  to  scourge  the 
souls  in  Ninkigal,  Babylon  would  lie  quivering  in 
mud,  her  brick  huts  melted  into  shapeless  puddles, 
her  drains  overflowing  with  water  and  refuse,  her 
river  tearing  along  through  its  high  -  bricked  banks, 
threatening  to  inundate  all  Chaldea,  from  Cutha 
to  the  gulf.  And  yet — one  short  day  of  sunshine  and 
the  A-Ibur  and  all  the  squares  were  dry  again;  the 
canals  flowred  soberly  betwreen  their  banks;  the  troops 
of  beggars,  children,  and  dogs  came  out  from  their 
lurking-places,  and  homeless  ones  gathered  their 
scant  furniture  out  of  the  muddy  ruins  and  began 
the  yearly  task  of  rebuilding  their  unstable  homes. 

The  days  were  growing  short,  and  Charmides, 
whose  work  at  the  temple  occupied  more  time  than 
formerly,  while  his  salary  had  correspondingly  in 
creased,  frequently  walked  home  at  the  very  end  of 
twilight.  One  evening,  during  the  first  days  of  Arah- 
Samma  (October),  the  young  Greek,  who  had  been 
detained  by  a  special  sacrifice  in  honor  of  the  full 
moon,  was  wending  his  way  homeward  by  its  light. 
His  steps  were  slower  than  usual  and  betrayed  the 
reluctance  that  he  felt.  His  mood  was  arbitrary. 
For  the  first  time  since  his  marriage,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  perhaps,  Charmides  felt  a  great  crav 
ing  for  masculine  society.  The  idea  of  the  eternal 
supper  with  Ramua  and  her  mother,  the  evening 
spent  in  hearing  his  wife  discourse  upon  effeminate 
matters,  or  in  poetry  of  his  own  making,  palled  upon 
him.  Were  there  a  single  man  in  all  this  city  whom 
he  could  call  comrade,  Ramua  might  have  waited 


254  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

for  him  in  vain  to-night.  So  at  ,least  thought  Char 
mides,  as  he  loitered  along  in  childish  ill -humor; 
and  either  Sin  or  Apollo  must  have  read  his  heart. 
Presently,  as  he  came  to  a  turn  in  the  way,  he  espied, 
just  emerging  from  a  door  on  the  left,  a  whilom  famil 
iar  figure,  bandy-legged,  crook-shouldered,  with  spot 
less  white  "cap  and  tunic,  and  a  walk  by  which  he 
would  have  been  recognized  at  the  end  of  the  world. 
Without  perceiving  Charmides,  he  turned  towards  the 
south.  But  the  Greek,  his  heart  leaping  with  pleasure, 
darted  forward  and  grasped  the  little  fellow  by  the 
shoulder. 

"Hodo!"  he  cried,  in  Phoenician.  "Hodo!  Dost 
thou  forget  me?" 

"ByNebo,  my  little  Greek!"  shouted  Hodo,  blink 
ing  violently  once  or  twice,  and  then  opening  his  eyes 
wide  with  delight.  "Well,  my  Greek!  Still  in  Baby 
lon?  And  how?  And  where?  I  will  turn  my  steps  in 
the  way  of  thy  going." 

"They  go  in  mine  already.  Come  you  home  with 
me,  Hodo,  and  greet  my  wife." 

"Wife — wife!  Horns  of  Bel!  Why,  Greek,  thou 
art  the  wonder  of  my  heart !  '  Home ' — to  thy  '  wife ' ! 
Who  may  she  be?  Thou  hast  not  won  the  goddess 
over?" 

Charmides  flushed,  but  did  not  lose  his  temper. 
"Come  you  home  and  eat  of  my  bread,  and  behold 
the  light  of  Ramua's  eyes."  , 

"Oh,  ay.  Give  you  thanks.  I  will  in  happiness 
break  bread  with  you.  Then,  later,  come  you  out 
with  me  where  I  am  going — to  the  temple  of  the  false 
Istar.  Let  us  behold  the  witches  who  wander  abroad ; 
the  vultures  that  snatch  at  the  bodies  of  the  fallen 
in  the  pale  beams  of  Sin ;  and  the  vampires  and  ghouls 
that  haunt  the  Great  City  by  night.  The  Lady  Ra- 
mua  will  sleep  soundly  enough  for  this  only  time." 

Charmides  laughed  blithely.  "Verily,  'tis  what 
I  would  do,  Hodo.  Babylon  by  day  I  know  all  too 


BABYLON    BY    NIGHT  255 

well.^  But  Babylon  .by  night — often  have  I  heard  of 
the  Igigi  and  the  bat  companions  of  Mulge.  To 
gether  we  shall  behold  them.  Now  yonder  is  the 
tenement  of  Ut,  wherein  I  dwell." 

"  Aha !  Near  to  Ribata's  palace.  Is  thy  wife  await 
ing  thee?" 

"It  is  Ramua  in  the  door-way  there,  with  the  jar 
upon  her  head." 

"By  Nebo  and  Bel,  a  slender  lass!" 

As  the  two  men  arrived  at  the  door  Charmides 
introduced  his  wife  to  his  friend;  and  Ramua,  for 
Charmides'  sake,  greeted  the  grotesque  little 'creature 
with  cordial  if  modest  hospitality.  Beltani  hurried 
forth  to  purchase  a  river-fish  from  the  nearest  vender, 
and  this  was  hastily  cooked  for  supper,  along  with 
the  usual  sesame.  These  things,  and  the  milk,  figs, 
and  dates,  they  ate  in-doors ;  for,  though  the  moon  still 
shone  brightly,  none  could  say  that  in  fifteen  min 
utes  a  hurricane  might  not  be  raging.  Raman  was 
fickle,  and,  in  the  rainy  season,  he  was  the  supreme 
god  of  the  skies. 

Hodo  seated  himself  delightedly  at  Charmides' 
table.  Here,  indeed,  thought  he,  was  a  miracle:  that 
a  fellow  scarcely  attained  to  manhood,  ignorant  of 
every  detail  of  the  life  and  the  language  of  a  people 
also  new  to  him,  should  have  entered  the  gates  of  the 
greatest  city  in  the  world,  and  in  four  months  find 
himself  master  of  a  household,  earning  a  creditable 
income,  and  should  at  the  same  time  have  won  for  a 
wife  one  of  the  most  delightful  young  women  that  the 
little  Borsipite  had  ever  seen.  Ramua,  in  fact,  with 
one  long-lashed  glance,  had  completely  conquered  him. 
The  crooked  little  man  forgot  his  food  in  the  interest 
of  observing  what  went  on  around  him ;  and  only  by 
the  noble  efforts  of  Beltani  was  the  conversational 
ball  kept  moving,  however  fitfully  and  unevenly. 
Ramua,  shy  and  a  little  nervous  at  this  first  tax  on 
her  young  matronhood,  said  almost  nothing,  but 


256  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

managed  that  Bazuzu  should  keep  every  plate  and 
cup  filled  without  putting  too  severe  a  strain  on  the 
diminutive  larder.  It  never  occurred  to  Charmides 
to  watch  the  food,  nor  to  be  in  the  least  ashamed  of 
their  open  poverty.  His  Greek  nature  was  too  primi 
tive  for  that.  He  was  decidedly  sorry  when  the  meal 
came  to  an  end,  and  Ramua,  making  the  proper  salu 
tations,  followed  her  mother  into  the  inner  room,  leav 
ing  Charmides  and  the  guest  to  divert  themselves  as 
best  they  might. 

"Thy  wife — does  she  dance?"  inquired  Hodo,  hope 
fully,  when  they  were  alone. 

Charmides  shook  his  head.  "No.  Had  she  the 
aptitude,  I  should  forbid  it.  A  dancing-woman  is 
not  for  a  man's  wife." 

Hodo  sighed,  nodded,  and  seated  himself  resigned 
ly,  while  Charmides  moved  over  to  the  door  and  looked 
out  upon  the  night.  Presently  he  darted  out  and  up 
the  stairs,  to  return  a  moment  later  wrapped  in  a  vo 
luminous  cloak  of  dark  stuff :  an  article  never  unac 
ceptable  at  this  time  of  year.  Re-entering  the  room, 
he  turned  eagerly  to  his  friend. 

"Come,  Hodo!  Now  let  us  go  forth  into  the  city, 
up  to  the  temple  of  the  false  Istar.  For  I  am  ignorant 
of  all  that  happens  within  it  at  night.  Demons  and 
witches  1  have  never  beheld.  Come  you  and  show 
them  to  me.  Rise  up  and  come!" 

The  trader  obeyed  these  suggestions  with  alacrity, 
there  being  no  further  prospect  of  seeing  Ramua 
that  night.  Before  leaving  the  house,  however,  Char 
mides  went  to  her  to  explain  whither  he  was  go 
ing,  lest  she  might  lie  awake  for  him.  Like  a  dutiful 
wife,  she  made  no  protest;  though  had  he  chosen, 
Charmides  might  have  read  in  her  eyes  her  little 
sense  of  disappointment  and  depression.  However, 
Charmides  did  not  choose.  Hurrying  quickly  out  of 
the  house,  he  and  Hodo  crossed  the  silent  square  and 
reached  the  bank  of  the  canal,  across  which,  at  a  little 


BABYLON    BY    NIGHT  257 

distance,  rose,  like  a  huge  shadow,  the  great  palace 
of  Bit  -  Shumukin,  where  the  tiny  windows  set  high 
in  the  bright  -  colored  walls  were  marked  in  blotches 
of  pale  light. 

Down  in  this  quarter  of  the  city  the  streets  were 
deserted.  Stillness  lay  over  everything.  The  moon 
light  made  a  fairy  day,  that  hid  all  the  blemishes,  the 
filth,  the  ruinous  rubbish  -  heaps,  and  so  beautified 
the  things  that  were  shapely  that  one  might  have 
been  walking  through  a  city  of  the  silver  sky.  But 
the  heavens  were  not  perfectlyA  clear.  As  the  two 
walkers  finally  arrived  upon  the  A-Ibur-Sabu  a  heavy 
cloud  suddenly  hid  Sin  from  their  sight,  and  a  faint 
growl  of  thunder  rolled  out  of  the  mists,  coming  to 
their  ears  as  from  a  great  distance.  Charmides 
straightened  up,  muffled  himself  a  little  closer  in  his 
cloak,  and  turned  to  Hodo. 

"  Where  find  we  the  second  Istar?"  he  asked,  crisply. 

Hodo  looked  at  him  with  a  little  smile.  "Char 
mides  is  changed  since  that  day  that  he  took  part  in 
the  rites  of  Ashtoreth,"  he  observed,  turning  towards 
the  north. 

In  the  darkness  the  Greek  frowned.  It  was  the 
one  incident  in  his  life  of  which  he  could  not  bear  to 
be  reminded.  And  this — was  this  to  put  him  back 
into  that  day?  It  was  only  with  an  effort  that  he 
shook  off  a  sudden  reluctance;  but  it  passed  as  the 
moon  suddenly  shot  a  stream  of  light  forth  from  the 
cloud,  and  ^he  looked  about  him.  They  were  well 
along  the  A-Ibur,  just  opposite  the  royal  granaries. 
So  much  the  Greek  realized.  But  otherwise  the  street 
had  a  most  unfamiliar  appearance.  Many,  many 
people  were  abroad  in  it :  shadowy,  dark-flitting  forms, 
whether  of  men  or  of  women  it  would  have  been  hard 
to  say.  Cries,  vague  and  incomprehensible  to  Char 
mides,  yet  each  with  its  peculiar  significance  among 
frequenters  of  the  streets  by  night,  came  weirdly  out 
of  the  shadowy  darkness.  At  short  intervals  on  each 

>7 


258  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

side  of  the  broad  street  a  string  of  lamps  stretching 
above  a  door-way  would  mark  the  entrance  to  some 
drinking  or  gambling  den  unknown  to  daylight.  Into 
these  places  muffled  figures  were  continually  passing ; 
but  few  emerged.  It  was  yet  too  early  for  that.  Char- 
mides  would  have  paused  to  look  into  one  or  two  of 
them,  but  Hodo  hurried  along,  glancing  neither  to  the 
right  nor  left.  Every  few  yards,  now,  the  younger 
man  was  accosted  by  some  creature  of  the  night,  a 
devotee  of  false  Istar,  or  a  priestess  of  Lil  the  ghost, 
the  queen  of  Lilat,  who  was  lord  of  darkness.  Not 
once  did  Charmides  make  reply  to  the  women;  but, 
had  it  not  been  for  Hodo,  he  would  have  liked  very 
well  to  halt  at  some  dark  corner  to  watch  more  care 
fully  all  that  was  going  on  around  him. 

The  Borsipite  knew  Babylon  too  well  to  stop  on  so 
transitory  and  uninteresting  a  site  as  the  A-Ibur-Sabu. 
Far  to  the  north,  almost  under  the  shadows  of  Imgur- 
Bel,  near  the  gates  of  Sin  and  the  Setting  Sun,  in 
the  square  of  the  temple  of  the  false  Istar,  all  the  vi- 
ciousness  of  all  humanity  was  visible  to  every  man, 
and  was  permitted,  in  the  name  of  religion,  to  go 
on  between  the  hour  of  the  first  darkness  and  the 
gray  of  dawn. 

On  the  right  side  of  the  square,  on  the  usual  plat 
form,  but  without  any  ziggurat  or  tower  near  it,  was 
the  low,  broad  building  miscalled  "temple,"  dedi 
cated  to  the  worship  of  the  goddess  of  night.  This 
building  by  day  was  gray,  silent,  deserted,  shut  as 
to  doors  and  windows,  open  to  no  one.  By  night  one 
would  not  have  known  it  for  the  same  thing.  Its  un 
guarded  gates  were  wide  to  any  that  chose  to  enter — 
and  these  were  never  few.  The  hundreds  of  minia 
ture  apartments  that  composed  the  interior  of  the 
place,  glowed  with  light.  In  the  first  of  these  rooms 
the  eager  or  the  new-comers  were  waylaid,  while  the 
idle  or  the  fastidious  penetrated  as  near  as  possi 
ble  to  the  central  shrine,  where  she  who  represented 


BABYLON    BY    NIGHT  259 

the  goddess,  the  living  substitute  elected  every  year  on 
the  first  of  Nisan,  reposed  in  a  dimly  lighted  grotto  of 
unsurpassed  splendor.  To  her  many  were  summoned ; 
and  one  out  of  every  twenty,  perhaps,  remained.  But 
the  Chaldean  visitor  in  Babylon  that  passed  five  nights 
in  the  city  and  saw  not  the  queen  of  the  temple  of  false 
Istar,  was,  indeed,  an  old  and  ugly  man. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  square  stood  a  little  row 
of  houses,  also  quiet  but  not  utterly  deserted  by  day. 
In  them  dwelt  the  orders  of  witches,  sorceresses,  hiero- 
dules,  priestesses,  and  vampires  attached  to'  the  far- 
famed  and  infamous  temple  across  the  square.  These, 
like  their  queen,  lived  by  night  and  slept  by  day.  Into 
their  houses  none  but  members  of  their  orders  were 
admitted.  The  greatest  precision  was  observed  in 
their  rules  of  life;  and  the  great  public  knew  nothing 
at  all  of  the  real  and  rather  pitiable  existence  of  these 
dwellers  in  silent  places. 

These  buildings  were  the  only  ones  upon  the  square. 
To  the  north  and  to  the  south  it  was  enclosed  by  high 
walls  pierced  by  as  many  gates  as  there  were  streets 
leading  into  it;  for  no  one  ever  had  any  difficulty  in 
getting  into  the  place  if  he  cared  to  enter  it. 

Finally,  what  was  the  square  itself?  By  day  it 
was  the  quietest  spot  in  the  city.  By  night  it  was  the 
most  crowded  and  the  most  wonderful.  Great  throngs 
of  people  always  assembled  here  during  the  first  hour 
of  darkness  —  men  of  every  station  and  age;  priest 
and  lord,  bondsman  and  official,  tradesman,  shop 
keeper,  farmer,  laborer,  and  soldier.  All  of  them  were 
solemnly  clad,  and  they  mingled  together  in  an  in 
extricable  mass  about  the  myriad  bonfires  that  served 
to  light  the  performances  of  the  jugglers,  snake-charm 
ers,  and  wizards  who  earned  their  living  here.  Fanat 
ical  priestesses  of  Lil  flitted  among  the  people;  and 
these  women  were  a  very  real  danger,  for  they  men 
aced  life  in  a  peculiar  way.  They  were  professional 
vampires,  whose  habit  it  was  to  slip  a  delicate,  pois- 


260  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

oned  dagger  into  the  vital  spot  below  the  heart  of  a 
victim,  throw  themselves  upon  the  body  as  it  fell,  and 
rob  it,  under  the  horrid  pretence  of  sucking  the  blood. 
Incredible  as  it  is,  these  women  were  held  in  supersti 
tious  reverence.  No  one  dared  resist  the  attack  of  a 
vampire,  through  fear  of  becoming  one  of  them  after 
death.  Vigilance  and  flight  were  the  only  means  of 
safety ;  and  certainly  what  violence  was  done  did  not 
seem  enough  to  deter  all  Babylon  from  congregating 
at  this  place. 

As  Hodo  and  Charmides  at  length  ended  their  weary 
walk  and  entered  the  square,  the  trader  gave  his  com 
panion  a  quick  warning  of  the  dangers  there  to  be 
encountered;  and  the  Greek,  feeling  nothing  but  a 
pleasurable  thrill  of  excitement,  placed  his  left  hand 
on  his  not  too-well-filled  money-bag,  and  eagerly  fol 
lowed  his  companion  towards  the  bonfire  nearest  the 
door  of  the  temple.  It  was  not  easy  to  force  a  passage 
through  the  close-packed  crowd  that  stood  here  about 
the  performer.  But  with  some  expostulation,  a  good 
deal  of  elbowing,  and  not  a  little  Babylonish  profan 
ity,  the  two  finally  reached  a  vantage-point  whence 
they  could  watch  the  performance  of  the  wonder 
worker.  The  man  was  a  Hindu  outcast  from  the 
Sindh,  come  hither  only  he  knew  how.  But  from 
some  one,  somehow,  perhaps  by  aid  of  his  owrn  mys 
tical  religion,  he  had  learned  a  profession  that  could 
not  but  win  him  a  living,  wherever  he  might  be.  Char 
mides,  who  had  never  before  heard  of  an  exhibition 
like  this,  looked  on  wide-eyed,  in  great  delight.  He 
was  utterly  absorbed  in  watching  a  parrot  come  slow 
ly  forth  out  of  a  ferret's  throat,  when  a  lithe  arm  slid 
gently  around  his  neck.  He  started  backward  in  ter 
ror.  Hodo  was  upon  him  instantly  and  the  white 
arm  was  withdrawn,  its  owner  melting  so  quickly 
into  the  throng  that  Charmides  could  not  even  recog 
nize  her.  Trembling  a  little,  with  a  combination  of 
outraged  dignity  and  fright,  the  youth  drew  away 


BABYLON    BY    NIGHT  261 

from  the  scene  that  had  now  lost  its  interest.  Once 
in  the  more  open  spaces  of  the  square,  Hodo  went  to 
one  of  the  liquor  venders  who  passed  continually  to 
and  fro,  carrying  on  their  backs  skins  of  the  heady 
liquid  made  from  the  cabbage  of  the  date  -  palm,  to 
gether  with  various  other  cheap  and  highly  intoxi 
cating  drinks. 

"Come  hither,  my  Charmides,  and  drink  with  me!" 
called  his  guide,  as  he  bought  a  double  cupful  of  red 
liquor  from  a  little,  shrivelled  man  with  newly  filled 
pig-skin. 

The  Greek  bravely  accepted  the  invitation  and 
lifted  the  cup  to  his  lips.  He  took  a  single  mouth 
ful  of  the  stuff,  and  then  poured  the  rest  of  it  quietly 
out  upon  the  ground.  Hodo  saw  nothing.  He  had 
taken  his  beverage,  with  no  joy  in  its  flavor  but  with 
every  confidence  in  its  happy  result.  Charmides  was 
not  to  be  outdone  in  good-fellowship.  Straightway 
he  made  for  another  vender,  Hodo,  grinning  approval, 
close  at  his  heels;  and  the  first  performance  was  re 
peated,  save  for  the  fact  that  this  time  the  Greek 
paid  for  both  drinks.  Hodo  was  now  bent  upon 
having  too  much.  Charmides  watched  him  quaff 
for  the  third  time,  himself  offered  a  fourth  cup;  and 
after  that,  having  wasted  thirty  se  to  very  good  pur 
pose,  took  his  companion  by  the  shoulder  and  remon 
strated. 

"  Hodo,  I  shall  leave  you  if  you  do  not  cease. " 

"  Spirit  of  Lil,  my  wonder,  we  have  but  begun !  The 
n-night  is  young.  Behold,  Sin  and  his  little  brother 
ride  still  low  in  the  sky.  Well — w-welll  If  thou  wilt 
be  foolishly  wroth  we  will  wait  your  most  reverent 
pleasure.  Come  now  into  the  temple.  It  is  time.  By 
the  battle  of  Bel  and  Tiamat,  thou  wilt  win  in  to  Istar 
herself,  with  your  golden  curls  and  pale  eyes.  Come 
on,  little  Greek!  By  all  the  gods,  come  on!" 

Once  again  Hodo  took  the  lead;  this  time  rather 
more  crookedly  than  usual,  and  Charmides  followed 


262  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

at  his  heels,  through  the  roaring  throng,  up  to  the 
wide  gates  of  the  many-roomed  house  of  the  false  Is- 
tar.  Together  they  ascended  the  platform  steps, 
reached  the  threshold  of  the  temple  itself,  wavered 
there  for  an  instant,  like  birds  ready  for  flight,  and 
then  plunged  together  into  the  first  torch -lit  pas 
sage. 

Four  hours  later  Charmides  emerged  alone.  His 
cloak  and  his  money-bag  were  both  gone.  His  tunic 
was  rent  in  more  than  one  place.  His  face  was  whiter 
than  Zor's  milk;  and  his  hair  was  in  wild  disorder. 
Heeding  little  how  he  went,  he  passed  down  the  steps 
again  into  the  square.  It  was  nearly  empty  now. 
Jugglers  and  magicians  were  gone.  The  fifty  fires 
burned  low,  or  were  on  the  verge  of  extinction.  The 
moon  hung  in  the  west,  and  the  sky  was  heavy  with 
storm-clouds.  The  Greek  staggered  as  the  cool  dark 
ness  stole  over  him.  In  the  house  he  had  left  the 
revelry  was  at  its  maddest  pitch.  Hodo  was  lost  in 
it,  his  companion  knew  not  where.  Charmides  him 
self  had  learned  the  highest  form  of  worship  of  the 
false  goddess,  for  he  had  attained  to  the  inmost 
shrine.  He  was  young;  the  flame  of  his  fire  had 
burned  too  fiercely  while  it  burned  at  all;  and  now 
the  reaction  had  set  in.  Exhausted,  apathetic,  half 
fainting  from  weariness,  he  longed  for  the  liquor  that 
he  had  refused  earlier  in  the  night.  But  drink  was 
impossible  now.  His  money  was  gone.  All  that  he 
had  with  him  he  had  flung  into  the  open  coffers  of 
the  great  courtesan.  Now  —  now  there  stretched  be 
fore  him  the  endlessly  weary  homeward  way,  that 
must  be  traversed  on  foot.  At  the  prospect  he  shiv 
ered  with  misery. 

Pausing  for  a  moment  or  two  to  gather  a  little 
warmth  for  his  chilled  body  from  the  dying  embers 
of  the  nearest  fire,  preparatory  to  setting  forth  into 
the  city,  he  saw,  coming  towards  him  out  of  the  gloom 
of  the  opposite  side  of  the  square,  two  well-robed  men, 


BABYLON    BY    NIGHT  263 

one  of  whom  he  recognized  as  an  under-priest  in  the 
temple  of  Sin.  They  were  going  in  his  direction,  and 
as  they  passed  he  moved  after  them,  that  he  might 
keep  himself  awake  by  listening  to  snatches  of  their 
conversation.  Both  of  them  were  oblivious  of  his 
presence,  wholly  absorbed  in  themselves.  They  did 
not  talk  at  first;  but  a  sensitive  person  would  have 
realized  that  they  were  indulging  in  that  species  of 
mental  intercourse  that  exists  only  for  those  whose 
hearts  are  bare  to  each  other.  Charmides,  even  in 
his  irresponsible  condition,  recognized  the  sympathy, 
but  could  not,  of  course,  partake  of  it.  At  the  first 
spoken  wrord,  however,  he  pricked  up  his  ears  and 
listened  with  all  his  mind.  Oddly  enough,  he  found 
their  topic  one  of  peculiar  interest  to  himself.  It  was 
the  priest  of  Charmides'  temple  who  spoke. 

"From  Siatu-Sin  I  heard  all  the  tale — all  that  any 
one  knows.  It  is  incredible,  thrice  incredible,  that 
she  was  cried  'mortal'  by  the  people." 

"The  people!  The  cattle,  rather!"  rejoined  his  com 
panion,  scornfully.  • 

"Howbeit — howbeit — there  is  something  strange  in 
the  story.  Divine,  she  knew  that  death  was  intend 
ed.  Human,  she  feared  it.  That  we  know." 

Kaiya  shook  his  head  impatiently.  "  Since  Babylon 
knew  her  again,  neither  Amraphel  nor  Beltishazzar 
has  dared  go  to  her." 

"Amraphel,  nor  Daniel — nor  any  man.  Her  very 
priestesses,  we  are  told,  do  not  see  her  face.  The  silver 
glory  is  gone  from  around  her,  they  say.  Now  walks 
she  veiled  in  black  and  gold  from  Babylonish  looms. 
Veiled  she  sits  in  the  mercy-seat.  Veiled  she  receives 
her  food.  Veiled  she  ascends  to  the  ziggurat,  and 
there  passes  whole  days  alone  in  meditation." 

"And  it  is  said  that  one  standing  on  the  ziggurat, 
by  the  door  of  the  sanctuary,  may  hear  the  sound  of 
human  weeping  in  that  room." 

"Istar  weeping!     Ho,  Kaiya — thou  laughest!" 


264  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"No.  I  say  what  I  am  told/'  repeated  the  other, 
seriously. 

"A  goddess — does  not  weep." 

There  was  a  little  pause.  The  conversation  had 
reached  a  point  whence  it  could  not  proceed.  Neither 
man  would  make  the  inference  implied.  It  was  pre 
posterous — also  unnecessary. 

Presently,  however,  when  the  reverence  had  been 
strained  a  little,  Bel-Dur,  the  priest  of  Sin,  broke  into 
a  laugh.  "  Love  we  the  woman,  Kaiya?"  he  asked,  in 
amusement. 

Kaiya  was  no  laggard.  He  whipped  off  his  re 
ligious  mood  like  a  garment,  and  went  a  step  further 
than  his  companion.  "Let  us  love  her!"  said  he. 

Bel-Dur  turned  his  head  to  stare  at  his  companion, 
and  once  more  began  to  laugh.  "Why  not?  Is  it 
forbidden?  Let  us  carry  comfort  to  the  weeping  one. 
Let  us  banish  her  loneliness.  Let  us — " 

"Nay,  be  silent,  Bel-Dur,  and  listen  to  me.  If  she 
be  proved  a  woman,  and  hath  thus  deceived  all  in 
the  Great  City,  let  her— let  her,  for  punishment  or  re 
ward,  be  removed — from  one  temple  of  Istar  into  the 
other." 

Kaiya  looked  swiftly  over  his  companion's  face, 
and  then  let  his  eyes  move  farther  afield.  Charmides, 
behind  the  two  men,  listening  intently,  but  slow,  from 
weariness,  to  understand,  waited  stupidly  for  the  next 
speech.  Kaiya  continued: 

"  Too  long  we  have  worshipped  her  as  Istar  to  ban 
ish  her  now  from  Istar 's  place.  Let  her  be  carried  to 
the  greater  temple,  and  placed  there  in  the  inner  shrine 
on  the  golden  couch  of  the  false  goddess.  Eh?  Say 
you  that  I  speak  well?" 

At  these  ruthless  words,  spoken  in  jest  though  they 
were,  Charmides  halted.  The  blood  poured  into  his 
brain.  He  clenched  his  hands.  There  was  a  moment 
of  wild  impulse  to  rush  forward  and  throw  himself 
bodily  on  the  Zicari  that  spoke.  But  the  two  figures 


BABYLON    BY    NIGHT  265 

moved  on  through  the  darkness,  and  he  lost  the  next 
words.  Much  as  the  priests  had  shocked  him,  Char- 
mides  felt  the  greatest  anxiety  to  hear  more  of  their 
talk.  He  stumbled  forward  again  as  fast  as  he  could, 
and  presently  caught  up  with  them,  realizing  their 
nearness  by  the  distinctness  of  their  voices;  for  the 
moon  was  now  under  a  cloud,  and  the  night  was  black 
and  thick.  When  he  was  again  able  to  distinguish 
words,  Bel-Dur  was  speaking;  and  the  topic  had  evi 
dently  shifted  a  long  way  from  its  previous  point. 
Charmides  was  puzzled  at  the  first  sentences. 

"  I  do  not  know.  Amraphel  only  admits  the  Pate*su, 
Sangu,  and  Enu  to  their  councils ;  these,  and,  of  course, 
the  three  Jewish  leaders :  Daniel  and  the  sons  of  Egibi. 
The  men  of  Judea — captives,  they  call  themselves — 
will  be  a  strong  force  in  the  uprising." 

"Will  this  come  in  winter?" 

"I  do  not  know.  Nothing  is  commonly  known. 
Yet,  in  the  rainy  season,  the  army  of  the  Elamite 
could  not  move  northward  without  great  difficulty.  It 
is  whispered  through  the  temple  that  there  are  to  be 
two  armies — one  that  of  Kurush  himself ;  another  that  of 
Gobryas,  the  governor  of  Gutium.  Have  you  heard  it?" 

"  Whispered,  yes.  But  nothing  is  sure.  If  this  up 
rising  were  to  be  a  matter  of  three  months  hence, 
surely  more  would  be  knowrn  of  it  than  is  known  now. 
Everything  is  rumored;  nothing  is  definite — " 

"Save  that  Amraphel  covets  Nabonidus'  high  place 
— and  will  have  it.  Belshazzar,  look  you,  will  never 
sit  upon  the  golden  throne  of  his  fathers." 

"Istar  being  no  woman — maybe  Belshazzar  will 
be  proved  no  man." 

"  Then  is  he  a  demon.  Nabonidus,  indeed,  may  be 
a  woman  in  man's  garb,  0  Kaiya.  But  thou  wilt  find 
Belshazzar  no  sluggard  in  war." 

"  Verily  I  believe  it.  Here  is  my  house.  Wilt  come 
in  to  us,  Bel-Dur?" 

"Nay,  I  keep  my  way  to  the  temple.     There  is  but 


266  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

a  short  time  for  purification  before  the  auguries  of 
dawn." 

"Farewell.     Amraphel  be  with  you!" 

Bel-Dur  laughed  at  the  bold  sacrilege  and  departed 
towards  the  temple  of  Sin,  while  the  Zicari  entered 
into  the  little  house  of  which  he  was  a  member.  Char- 
mides  was  left  alone  in  the  narrow  street,  too  weary  to 
go  as  far  as  the  tenement,  undecided  as  to  where  to 
turn  his  lagging  steps  for  a  sorely  needed  shelter. 

Even  while  he  stood,  fagged  and  drooping  with 
sleep,  at  the  door  of  the  monastery,  the  dawn  broke. 
Night  melted  and  swam  before  his  eyes  in  rivulets  of 
misty  gray.  Shadowy  buildings  reared  out  of  the 
dim  light.  From  the  far-away  came  the  faint  howls 
of  waking  dogs.  There  was  the  gay  crow  of  a  cock 
from  some  distant  field.  Then  the  world  was  still 
again.  The  sky  grew  eerily  clear.  Charmides  saw  the 
white  stars  and  the  fallen  moon  sink  away  into  the 
bright  heavens.  Still  the  morning  was  not  one  of 
sunlight.  It  was  only  a  luminous  fog  that  poured 
down  from  the  sky  in  swirls.  In  the  midst  of  it  the 
Greek  shuddered  with  cold,  and  longed  for  his  lost 
cloak.  Somewhere  —  somewhere  he  must  go,  and 
quickly.  Somewhere  he  must  find  shelter  from  the 
coming  rain.  His  head  throbbed.  He  was  wretch 
edly  nauseated.  The  night  that  was  past  stretched 
behind  him  hideously,  like  the  tail  of  a  loathsome 
reptile.  All  things  were  distorted  in  his  mind.  He 
cursed  Hodo  for  making  possible  for  him  the  night  that 
he  had  secretly  desired.  Finally,  he  put  away  every 
thought  save  that  of  physical  distress,  and  moved  for 
ward  at  a  crawling  pace  down  the  narrow  street,  till 
he  came  to  the  square  of  the  true  Istar,  whose  temple 
loomed  up  before  him  like  a  cloud-shadow. 

The  temple  gates  were  open.  As  Charmides  en 
tered  the  grateful  refuge  he  found  more  than  one  wan 
derer  asleep  in  the  silent  twilight  of  the  holy  house, 
where  sacrificial  lights  burned  by  day  and  by  night. 


BABYLON    BY    NIGHT  267 

Here  Charmides  also  should  have  laid  him  down; 
but,  for  some  inexplicable  reason,  he  was  not  satisfied 
with  the  place.  His  mind  groped  for  something  else. 
Istar  was  not  here;  and  he  wished  to  be  near  her,  to 
feel  her  presence  closer  than  it  was.  Following  his 
instinct,  he  hurried  out  of  the  temple  and  crossed  the 
platform  to  the  foot  of  the  ziggurat,  on  top  of  which, 
in  her  shrine,  Istar  had.  begun  to  pass  her  nights; 
though  of  this  fact  the  Greek,  in  his  right  mind,  was 
quite  unaware.  He  made  his  way  upward,  round  and 
round  the  thick  tower,  along  the  inclined  plane,  till 
he  had  reached  the  top.  There  was  the  door  to  the 
sanctuary.  Across  it  the  leathern  curtain  was  closely 
pulled.  Charmides  went  to  stand  beside  it,  listening 
intently  for  the  sound  of  weeping.  Had  not  Bel-Dur 
said  that  she  wept?  No  sound  came  from  within. 
Still,  Charmides  was  quite  sure  that  his  goddess  was 
there.  With  a  long,  shivering  sigh  he  laid  himself 
down  protectively  across  the  door-way,  pillowed  his 
bare  head  upon  the  bricks,  and  then,  all  numb  and 
drowsy  with  fatigue  and  cold,  he  sank  into  a  heavy 
sleep. 


CHARMIDES  was  roused  by  an  exclamation.  His 
eyes  fell  open,  and  he  found  himself  gazing 
up  into  a  face  that  for  months  had  baffled  alike  his 
dreams  and  his  actual  vision,  and  that  now  stood  out 
clearly  above  him.  He  sat  hastily  up,  and  immediately 
a  pair  of  gentle  hands  were  laid  upon  his  shoulders, 
and  the  most  wonderful  of  voices  said  to  him,  sorrow 
fully  and  in  amazement: 

"  Rhapsode  !  Rhapsode  !  How  came  you  here  ? 
Rise  quickly  from  that  place!" 

The  Greek  obediently  tried  to  scramble  to  his  feet, 
but  relinquishing  the  attempt,  he  put  his  hands  to 
his  burning  head  and  dizzily  closed  his  eyes. 

"  Tis  the  cold!"  he  gasped,  wretchedly. 

Istar  looked  around  her.  Far  below,  in  the  square, 
many  people  moved.  But  the  things  that  took  place 
on  the  ziggurat  were  invisible  to  them. 

"Come  thou  within  —  into  the  shrine.  Here  wilt 
thou  find  warmth,"  she  said,  drawing  him  with  her 
own  strength  to  his  feet,  and  pushing  back  the  cur 
tain  before  the  door. 

Charmides  went  with  her  blindly,  and  blindly  obeyed 
her  whispered  behests.  He  lay  down  upon  her  own 
couch,  was  covered  over  with  the  costly  rugs  that  she 
herself  had  used,  and  felt  the  human  warmth  of  the 
little  place  with  a  sense  of  peace  and  comfort. 

"  Oh,  goddess — forgive — this  profanation — of — thy 
— high — pla — "  The  murmur  ceased,  and  before  the 


THE    ANGER    OF    BEL  269 

last  word  had  been  completed  he  had  sunk  away  to 
sleep,  this  time  in  a  manner  to  recuperate  his  strength. 

Istar  of  Babylon  drew  a  stool  to  the  side  of  the  couch 
and  seated  herself  thereon,  almost  without  moving 
her  look  from  the  face  of  the  youth  before  her.  Again 
and  again  her  great  eyes  traversed  his  features,  the 
delicate,  straight  brows,  the  white  eyelids,  the  long, 
golden-brown  lashes,  the  short,  straight  nose,  and  that 
perfect  mouth  which,  on  a  woman,  might  well  have 
caused  another  Trojan  war.  A  face  as  beautiful  as 
ever  man  possessed  was  this,  and  as  she  watched  it  a 
great  sigh,  that  was  like  a  sob,  broke  from  her  lips. 

"  Thou,  too — thou,  too,  perhaps,  hast  been  immor 
tal!"  she  whispered  over  him. 

Charmides  did  not  hear  her.  He  lay  like  a  statue, 
his  sleep  made  dreamless  and  perfect  by  the  presence 
of  her  whom  he  worshipped.  And  the  face  of  the  Greek 
bore  the  marks  of  a  peace  and  content  that  were  not 
on  hers.  Istar  the  goddess,  the  superb,  the  omnis 
cient,  was  no  more.  Instead —  Ah!  There  was  a 
question  that  lay  eternally  at  Istar's  heart,  that  she 
could  not  answer,  that  burned  her  with  its  insistence. 
Now  she  bent  closely  and  more  close  over  her  charge, 
seeking  to  forget  herself  in  contemplation  of  his  beauty. 
The  eager  suppression  of  herself  was  pitiable,  for  the 
power  of  her  self-control  showed  how  great  was  its 
necessity.  It  was  wiiile  her  lashes  almost  touched 
the  cheek  of  the  Sicilian  that  from  beyond  the  cur 
tain  came  the  voice  of  a  ministering  eunuch,  raised 
in  his  regular  morning  formula: 

"Belit  Istar,  the  sacrifice  is  made:  the  meats  have 
known  the  fire.  A  sweet  savor  ascends  from  the  con 
secrated  flesh,  inviting  the  goddess  to  her  morning 
repast.  Let  Belit  Istar  command  her  slave." 

"Bring  to  me  goat's  flesh,  and  milk,  and  cakes  of 
sesame.  Let  these  things  be  placed  outside  my  sanct 
uary  door.  Let  no  one  enter  my  shrine  this  day,  on 
penalty  of  my  wrath." 


270  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"Belit  Istar  is  obeyed." 

Istar  sat  up,  straight  and  stiff,  for  full  five  minutes 
after  this  dialogue  had  taken  place.  She  was  pale 
with  the  momentary  danger,  the  remote  possibility 
that  the  slave,  contrary  to  custom,  might  have  lifted 
the  curtain  of  the  shrine,  and,  looking  in,  have  be 
held  Charmides  there.  And  now  that  the  eunuch  had 
safely  gone,  a  trembling  seized  her,  and  she  leaned 
forward,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands.  The  rumors 
that  had  spread  through  the  city  concerning  her  were 
in  so  much  true,  that  she  was  in  a  state  of  great  suf 
fering.  The  world  had  become  her  wilderness.  It 
enclosed  her  now  as  a  prison  from  which  she  could 
not  escape,  yet  in  which  her  liberty  was  appalling. 
Her  sense  of  omniscience,  of  companionship  with  the 
infinite,  was  quite  gone.  Nothing  was  left  except — 
except  what  she  feared  as  a  woman,  except  what,  as  a 
goddess,  she  cried  aloud  to  the  high  God  and  his  arche 
types  mercifully  to  spare  her.  Things  to  which  she 
would  give  no  definite  place  in  her  thoughts  crushed 
her  by  day  and  by  night  with  their  indeterminate 
weight.  That  the  worst  had  not  come,  that  a  great 
and  terrifying  cataclysm,  which  would  rend  her  spirit 
in  twain,  drew  da}'  by  day  nearer  to  her,  she  knew 
too  well.  And  as  these  days,  these  miserable,  pain- 
filled  days,  crawled  one  by  one  away,  she  would  fain 
have  held  them  to  her  forever;  for,  wretched  as  they 
were,  they  were  almost  happy  in  comparison  to  that 
that  must  finally  come  upon  her.  At  this  moment 
as  she  leaned  again  over  the  young  rhapsode,  Istar 
scanned  his  face  carefully,  minutely,  to  find  a  trace 
of  human  unhappiness.  And,  finding  none,  a  great 
envy  of  him  and  of  the  life  that  he  had  found  in  Baby 
lon  came  over  her.  Was  it  possible  that  so  much  of 
joy  might  belong  to  any  of  God's  creatures?  And 
was  she,  then,  utterly  forgotten?  She  pulled  herself 
up  with  a  start.  This  was  human,  this  question  of 
hers.  For  a  moment  or  two  she  saw  truly  what  she 


THE    ANGER    OF    BEL  271 

had  become,  and  a  fresh  wave  of  fear  swept  over  her. 
It  passed,  however.  The  supernatural  perception  was 
rarely  with  her  now,  and  then  only  in  quick,  remi 
niscent  flashes.  She  was  indeed  one  of  those  whom 
she  had  so  profoundly  pitied  from  her  dim  abode;  for 
whom  she  had  broken  the  law  of  her  order;  in  whose 
name  God  had  driven  her  forth  from  the  realm  of  high 
indifference  into  the  sentient  world,  the  world  of  pain. 

This  vague  and  unhappy  reverie  was  broken  in 
upon  by  the  return  of  the  eunuch  with  food,  which  he 
set  down  outside  her  door.  The  proceeding  was  un 
usual,  and  after  the  man's  departure  Istar  was  seized 
with  a  new  fear.  What  wrould  the  slave  think,  that 
she  had  bidden  him  not  enter  the  shrine?  Would  he 
suspect?  Of  all  things  now,  she  dreaded  suspicion; 
she  dreaded  being  watched ;  she  dreaded  beyond  meas 
ure  the  exposure  that  must  inevitably  come — but  not 
yet!  Not  yet  for  a  little  wrhile!  Stealthily  now  she 
drew  aside  the  curtain  and  looked  out  upon  the  narrow 
platform  of  the  ziggurat.  No  one  was  there.  Upon 
the  door-sill  were  two  dishes  of  chased  gold,  the  one 
filled  with  steaming  goat's  flesh  and  roasted  pigeons, 
the  other  heaped  with  barley  cakes  ;  and  the  two  of 
them  were  flanked  by  a  tall  silver  jar  of  warm  goat's 
milk.  These  Istar  lifted  one  by  one,  carried  them 
into  the  shrine,  and  set  them  upon  the  table  where  her 
shew-bread  was  usually  placed.  Then,  when  the  meal 
was  safe  within  and  ready,  she  went  over  to  where 
Charmides  still  lay  motionless,  and  laid  her  hand 
gently  upon  his  forehead. 

"Rise  thou,  Charmides,"  she  said. 

"  Ramua !"  muttered  the  Greek.  He  stirred  slightly. 
His  eyes  opened.  Then,  suddenly  realizing  where  he 
was,  he  leaped  to  his  feet,  stared  about  him  irrespon 
sibly  for  an  instant,  and  finally  threw  himself  on  his 
face  before  Istar. 

" Forgive  me,  my  goddess!  I  knew  not  what  I  did!" 
he  whispered,  terror-stricken. 


272  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Istar  smiled  mournfully.  "You  ask  forgiveness 
for  that  that  I  bade  you  do.  Rise,  my  Greek.  Eat 
of  the  food  that  is  here.  I  command  it." 

Charmides  looked  quickly  up.  He  could  not  deny 
that  he  was  ravenously  hungry.  The  smell  of  the 
meats  caused  his  nostrils  to  quiver,  and  the  sight  of 
them  did  away  with  his  reverent  wish  to  refuse.  Istar 
watched  him  closely  as  he  sat  down  to  her  morning 
meal.  She  herself  could  have  taken  not  one  mouth 
ful  of  food,  but  she  had  already  had  a  draught  of 
milk;  and  now,  urging  the  Greek  to  eat  his  fill,  she 
turned  aside  and  sat  down  near  the  door-way,  waiting 
in  silence  till  the  young  fellow,  after  a  final  cup  of  the 
mild  beverage,  wiped  his  dagger  on  his  tunic,  muttered 
a  line  of  grace  to  the  gods  of  Greece,  and  rose  a  little 
shamefacedly. 

"Thou  hast  eaten  and  art  filled,  Charmides?"  Istar 
asked,  turning  to  him  quietly,  with  the  shadow  of  a 
smile. 

For  answer  the  Greek  bent  his  knee  and  bowed  his 
head. 

"And  now  thou  goest  forth  again  into  the  city?" 

Charmides  looked  at  her  to  read  the  answer  that 
she  wished  him  to  make.  But  the  words  on  his  lips 
were  never  spoken. 

Istar  was  standing  before  him  a  little  to  the  left  of 
the  door-way,  from  which  the  curtain  was  half  pulled 
aside.  The  daylight  fell  relentlessly  over  her  face 
and  her  form.  It  was  upon  her  face  that  the  Greek's 
eyes  rested:  rested  in  wonder,  in  amazement,  finally 
with  something  more  than  either  of  those  things.  Was 
this  last  expression  one  of  horror?  Istar  saw  the  look 
and  read  it;  and  before  its  piercing  inquiry  she  quiv 
ered.  Involuntarily  she  began  to  shrink  away  from 
him,  but  escape  him  now  she  could  not.  Knowledge 
was  his.  There  was  no  concealment.  Then,  at  length, 
she  accepted  the  situation,  as  it  was  necessary  that 
she  should. 


THE    ANGER    OF    BEL  273 

"I  am  a  woman/'  she  said,  with  a  gentleness  and 
an  unconscious  dignity  that  nonplussed  him  anew. 
"Thou  mayst  not  kneel  to  a  woman,  Greek.  Rise 
up." 

"I  kneel  to  thee,  0  Istar!"  was  his  reply. 

Then,  indeed,  her  lips  quivered,  but  with  a  little 
effort  she  regained  her  self-control.  "Go  then,  Char- 
mides.  Thou  knowest  me — now." 

Charmides  got  to  his  feet,  but  he  made  no  move 
towards  departure.  Instead,  after  an  instant's  hesi 
tation,  he  went  a  little  closer  to  her,  and  spoke  as  he 
might  have  spoken  to  Baba — Baba  as  she  was  now. 

"Istar — art  thou  indeed  the  Istar  whom  first  I  be 
held  in  Babylon?" 

"  Yea,  Charmides.  I  am  that  Istar ;  yet  I  am  not  the 
same.  Then  was  I  more  than  human.  Now — less." 

"Who  decreed  it?  Who  defiled  thee?"  he  asked, 
as  much  of  the  air  around  him  as  of  her. 

"That  thou  must  not  ask.  It  is  what  none  shall 
ever  know.  Depart  from  me  and  go  thy  way.  Tell 
whom  thou  wilt  what  I  am  become.  Not  long —  Ah ! 
It  is  not  long  when  all  the  world  must  know  me — as  I 
am." 

"Not  from  the  words  of  my  mouth,  Beht,"  Char 
mides  said,  sadly.  Then,  for  a  little,  silence  fell  be 
tween  them.  He  knew  that  she  waited  for  him  to  go, 
and  yet,  before  he  went,  he  felt  that  he  must  warn  her 
of  the  danger  that  she  ran — that  danger  that  he  had 
learned  by  night.  Twist  it  as  he  might,  the  facts 
were  too  brutal  to  be  made  plain  to  her.  He  flushed 
as  he  connected,  even  in  thought,  the  scene  of  the  past 
night  with  the  grave  and  grandly  beautiful  creature 
before  him.  Woman  she  might  be,  but  the  mark  of 
her  godhead  was  on  her  still,  could  never  leave  her; 
for  no  living  woman,  of  his  race  or  of  any  other,  was 
comparable  to  her.  And  while  he  thought  these  things 
she  also  stood  regarding  him,  and  finally,  having 
read  half  his  mind,  opened  her  mouth  and  spake : 


274  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"  Charmides,  tell  me  thy  thoughts.  I  will  bear  with 
them." 

He  grasped  the  opportunity  eagerly:  "O  Belit,  I 
must  warn  thee  —  warn  thee  against  all  the  priest 
hood,  those  of  every  temple  and  house  in  the  city.  They 
threaten  thee  with  untellable  disaster.  Watch  them, 
lady,  and  take  heed  to  thyself.  Beware  whither  thy 
steps  lead  thee,  what  things  thou  turnest  thy  hands 
unto.  They  watch  thee  with  numberless  and  unholy 
eyes.  They  mean  great  wrong." 

"If  they  will  bring  me  death,  I  welcome  it  gladly." 

He  shot  a  glance  at  her  that  caused  her  suddenly  to 
drop  her  eyes.  Then  he  said,  quietly :  "  It  is  not  death. 
Ah,  Istar,  do  not  ask  its  horror.  I  myself  would  deal 
thee  death  with  my  right  hand  to  save  thee  from  it." 

Istar  shuddered. 

"Belit,  know  this.  When  comes  the  day  of  thy 
trial,  if  thou  wouldst  seek  shelter  from  the  pursuers, 
ask  to  be  taken  to  the  palace  of  Lord  Ribata  Bit-Shu- 
mukin,  on  the  canal  of  the  New  Year.  There,  at  the 
gate,  demand  the  presence  of  the  Lady  Baba.  Baba 
will  conduct  thee  to  the  home  I  live  in.  It  is  very 
lowly,  but  in  it  thou  shalt  find  safety.  Thou  wilt  re 
member  this?" 

"Truly,  Charmides,  thou  deservest  all  happiness!" 
she  said,  impulsively,  coming  nearer  to  him. 

He  bowed  his  head.  "For  thee  I  came  to  Babylon. 
Through  thee  my  heart  has  found  its  home.  There 
fore,  when  thou  shalt  ask  it  of  me,  my  life  it  is  thine." 

With  this,  then,  and  a  last  puzzled  look  at  her,  he 
went  forth  to  his  much-belated  temple  duties. 

Istar,  once  more  left  alone,  turned  slowly  back  into 
her  shrine.  The  little  interlude  that  had  broken  in 
upon  her  loneliness  made  her  shrink  from  the  pall 
that  waited  to  overwhelm  her  again.  Thereafter  the 
one  hour  of  Charmides'  presence  remained  like  a  lit 
tle  golden  disk  in  the  memory  of  her  solitary  months. 
But  now  the  momentary  sense  of  companionship  was 


THE    ANGER   OF    BEL  275 

too  terribly  contrasted  with  the  melancholy  of  her  soli 
tude.  Hurriedly  covering  herself  with  a  great,  silver- 
woven,  heavy-meshed  veil,  she  left  her  retreat  in  the 
upper  morning  and  left  the  ziggurat  for  her  dwelling- 
place  behind  the  temple. 

She  did  not  see  her  sanctuary  again  for  seven  months. 
It  was  not  that  she  felt  any  reluctance  about  entering  it. 
Simply,  her  apathy  had  become  such  that  she  was  in 
capable  of  the  physical  effort  necessary  for  the  ascent 
of  the  tower.  Once  a  day  she  took  her  place  in  the  mercy- 
seat  in  the  temple.  All  the  remaining  time  she  spent 
in  the  inmost  court  of  her  particular  suite  of  rooms, 
or  in  the  miniature  apartment  where  she  was  accus 
tomed  to  sleep.  She  reclined  generally  at  full  length, 
doing  no  work  of  any  kind,  her  eyes  shut,  the  heavy 
veil  shrouding  her  figure  but  thrown  back  from  her 
face,  her  body  perfectly  motionless,  her  very  thoughts 
apparently  at  rest.  Her  attendants  watched  her,  won 
dering  at  the  great  change  that  was  working  upon 
that  formerly  magnificent  personality.  And  through 
these  same  temple  -  slaves,  eunuchs,  and  hierodules, 
strange  rumors  concerning  the  once  universally  wor 
shipped  goddess  continued  to  fly  abroad  through  the 
city.  Certainly  there  appeared  to  be  little  enough  of 
the  divine  about  this  weak,  ill  woman;  though  why 
the  change  had  come  none  of  those  connected  with 
her  had  the  faintest  idea. 

These  were  the  days  of  Istar's  wandering  in  the 
wilderness.  Pain,  mental  and  physical,  she  learned 
in  every  stage,  from  slight  discomfort  to  nerveless 
agony.  Each  morning  she  woke  with  the  prayer  in 
her  heart  that  night  might  bring  the  end  of  it  all,  yet 
knowing  well  that  her  end  was  far  away.  Her  old, 
archetypal  world  became  gradually  more  and  more  in 
distinct  to  her  memory,  till  she  had  all  but  forgotten 
it.  Her  one  wish,  that  she  dared  not  utter,  was  for 
annihilation.  Yet  this  would  involve  a  sin  that  she 
could  not  but  recognize  as  unpardonable;  for  Istar  of 


276  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Babylon  bore  within  her  another  life,  a  life  that  was,  as 
yet,  part  of  her,  that  by  natural  law  was  hers  to  cher 
ish,  that  she  could  not  love,  that  she  dared  not  hate. 
And  it  was  the  day  when  this  new  life  should  take  unto 
itself  individuality  that  she  lay  dreading  through  all 
those  dreary  months,  from  the  death  of  summer  to  Airu, 
when  the  new  spring  came  to  Babylon. 

The  fall  of  Istar  was  accomplished.  This,  by  day 
and  by  night,  she  cried  to  herself,  in  her  agony  of  self- 
mortification.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the  wheel  of  the 
law  was  the  most  merciless  of  all  ordained  things. 
The  former  dead-alive  existence  of  her  godhead  seemed 
holy,  now  that  she  could  know  it  no  more.  The  very 
present,  indeed,  unendurable  as  it  was,  was  infinitely 
better  than  what  was  to  come.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
her  extreme  dread  of  the  future  was  very  near  to  turn 
ing  her  brain,  for  at  every  hour  she  lived  the  moment 
of  discovery,  till,  at  times,  she  was  like  to  go  mad  with 
it,  and  to  disclose  it  all,  then  and  there,  and  so  have 
done  with  it. 

There  were  two  or  three  of  her  priestesses  who  real 
ized,  through  many  of  her  symptoms,  her  mortal  state; 
and  these  were  very  tender  to  her  in  this  time  of  her 
trial.  From  their  lips  no  word  of  her  condition  reached 
the  outside  world.  The  underlings,  only,  talked;  and 
it  was  from  underling  to  Zicari,  Zicari  to  Pasisu, 
Pasisu  to  Sangi,  and  so  to  the  Patesi  at  last,  that  dis 
torted  accounts  of  Istar's  life  and  suffering  passed 
rapidly  in  the  late  autumn.  And  these  rumors  quickly 
reached  the  ears  of  the  three  people  who  had  the  strong 
est  personal  interest  in  Istar  of  Babylon.  Two  of  them 
were  her  enemies,  bitter,  unscrupulous,  and  powerful. 
These  two  were  also  closely  connected.  But,  while 
one  knew  perfectly  the  mind  of  the  other,  and  each 
knew  that  the  greatest  desire  of  the  other's  political 
life  was  Istar's  ruin,  yet,  while  matters  slowly  ripened 
and  daily  grew  more  absorbing,  the  subject  of  the  ap 
proaching  disgrace  of  the  whilom  goddess  was  never 


THE    ANGER    OF    BEL  277 

once  opened  between  them.  Amraphel  of  Bel,  from 
his  palace  on  the  A-Ibur-Sabu,  and  Daniel  of  Judea, 
from  his  humble  house  south  of  the  canal  of  the  Prophet, 
in  the  Jews'  quarter,  watched,  planned,  listened,  read 
each  other's  hearts,  and  bided  their  time,  in  the  way 
peculiar  to  those  that  know  well  their  world.  The 
time  for  action  would  come,  and  without  any  planning 
on  the  part  of  either  of  them.  But  when  it  did  arrive 
there  must  be  no  bungling  of  the  affair. 

Only  one  little  thing  in  the  case,  as  these  two  con 
sidered  it,  failed  to  assume  its  proper  proportion  in 
the  perspective  of  their  reasoning.  The  cause  of  Istar's 
undoing  was  as  much  a  mystery  to  them  as  it  was  to 
the  lowliest  kali  in  Istar's  temple.  Both  Amraphel 
and  Daniel  had  long  ago  ceased  to  reckon  Belshazzar 
as  a  factor  in  this  affair.  The  old  suspicion  had  been 
a  mistake — an  incomprehensible  mistake.  The  prince 
royal  went  no  more  to  the  temple  of  the  goddess,  never 
spoke  of  or  to  her,  gave  rather  all  his  time  to  affairs  of 
state;  which  at  this  moment  sorely  needed  the  firm 
will  and  the  strong  hand  that  he  alone,  of  all  his  house, 
possessed. 

It  was  well  enough  that  Amraphel  could  not  read 
Belshazzar 's  heart.  There  was  indelibly  written  what 
would  have  startled  that  reverent  man  out  of  all  his 
omniscient  composure.  For  if  Istar  mourned  un 
ceasingly  the  loss  of  her  godhead,  Belshazzar,  of  the 
house  of  the  Sun,  mourned  the  loss  of  her  to  his  life  as 
he  would  hardly  have  mourned  the  fall  of  that  kingdom 
that  was  dearer  to  him  than  his  life.  After  the  strange 
return  from  Erech,  he  had  gone  daily  for  two  months 
to  Istar's  temple,  and  had  sought  by  entreaty,  threat, 
prayer,  and  imprecation,  to  be  admitted  to  her.  And 
again  and  again,  and  yet  again,  had  he  been  refused, 
till  finally  he  turned  his  thoughts  to  the  life  of  his 
city.  But  by  this  means  she  was  not  taken  from  his 
heart.  By  night  he  dreamed  of  her,  and  by  day,  when 
she  was  as  far  from  him  as  the  sun,  as  near  as  his  chil- 


278  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

dren,  as  unapproachable  as  the  silver  sky,  she  was 
forever  a  sub-consciousness  in  his  thoughts. 

Thus  passed,  unhappily  and  uneventfully,  the  long 
winter  months  of  the  last  year  of  Nebuchadrezzar's 
Babylon.  In  the  first  week  of  Airu  (April),  Belshaz- 
zar  determined  finally  to  reach  Istar's  presence.  The 
stories  of  her  condition  had  of  late  become  alarming, 
and  in  the  depths  of  his  heart  he  had  begun  to  dread 
what  had  never  occurred  to  him  before  —  the  possi 
bility  of  her  death.  The  mere  thought  left  him 
agonized,,  and  he  felt  himself  unable  to  keep  away 
from  her  longer. 

It  was  late  in  the  morning — a  glowing  morning  in 
Babylon's  fairest  month — when  he  left  the  palace  on 
foot,  clad  in  a  dark  mantle  that  completely  covered 
his  head  and  his  figure,  rendering  him  unrecognizable 
to  any  but  his  closest  companions.  He  chose  this  hour 
for  going  because  he  knew  that  now  Istar's  vitality 
would  be  strongest,  and  he  dared  not  give  her  the 
shock  of  seeing  him  at  a  time  when  she  would  be  es 
pecially  weak.  The  matter  of  his  admission  to  her 
dwelling  had  been  arranged  by  Ribata  the  week  before, 
through  hirelings  whom  he  had  kept  in  the  temple 
precincts  for  some  months  past.  Unnoticed  by  any 
one,  then,  the  prince  arrived  at  the  bronze  door  of 
the  building  behind  the  temple.  It  was  instantly 
opened,  wide  enough  to  permit  of  his  passing  through ; 
and  inside  stood  a  veiled  woman,  who,  after  a  silent 
acknowledgment  of  his  rank,  led  the  way  through 
the  succession  of  courts  and  passages  to  a  closely 
curtained  door-way. 

"  Belit  Istar  is  within/'  she  whispered.  Then  on  the 
instant  she  turned  and  glided  swiftly  away. 

For  the  moment  Belshazzar  stood  trembling  upon 
the  threshold.  His  dread  was  evenly  matched  with 
his  fever.  The  throbbing  of  his  heart  sent  the  blood 
pounding  through  all  his  arteries.  His  hands  grew 
cold  and  useless.  The  effect  on  him  of  the  mere  thought 


THE    ANGER    OF    BEL  279 

of  beholding  this  woman  again  was  something  that 
he  did  not  pretend  to  understand.  Women,  ordinarily, 
were  little  enough  to  him.  But  this  woman — she  who 
was  hidden  from  him  by  the  single  fold  of  an  embroid 
ered  curtain  —  this  woman  made  his  earth  and  his 
heaven,  *his  soul,  his  brain,  his  body,  and  his  blood. 
Go  to  her  it  seemed  he  could  not,  for  very  desire.  Once 
his  hand  moved  forth  to  lift  the  curtain,  but  it  fell  again 
to  his  side.  His  head  whirled.  Long  as  it  was  since 
he  had  seen  Istar,  yet  the  picture  of  her  as  she  had 
lain  unconscious  in  his  arms  on  the  morning  of  the 
fall  at  Erech,  came  again  before  him  to  the  small 
est  detail — perfect,  finished,  immutable.  He  felt  her 
weight,  he  beheld  the  living  pallor  of  her  flesh,  he  saw 
the  heavy  -  fringed  eyelids  close  over  the  eyes  that 
lighted  his  world.  She  would  live  so  in  his  mind  for 
ever.  Now — he  was  about  to  turn  away,  to  leave  her 
alone  in  peace. 

So  far  there  had  been  no  sound  in  the  room  beyond. 
But  just  as  he  was  about  to  depart  there  came  to  his 
ears  some  words  spoken  in  her  voice — her  low,  exqui 
site  voice,  now  so  weary  and  so  much  weaker  than  it 
had  been  of  old.  The  words  reached  him  distinctly; 
and  instantly  they  caught  his  attention.  The  spell 
of  his  reluctance  was  broken,  and  all  the  fire  of  his 
eagerness  blazed  up  at  the  first  syllable  spoken  by 
her.  Quickly  he  lifted  the  curtain  and  stepped  out 
of  the  sun-flooded  court  over  the  threshold  of  the  dimly 
lighted  room.  Istar  was  on  her  knees  before  him,  her 
back  turned  to  the  door,  her  head  bowed,  her  long, 
black  veil  trailing  on  the  floor  around  her.  Her  voice 
was  lifted  in  prayer,  the  first  words  of  which  had 
caught  his  attention,  and  held  him  spellbound  by 
means  of  the  sweet,  forlorn  monotony  of  her  tone,  the 
ring  of  yearning,  of  pathos,  of  utter  hopelessness  inde 
scribably  felt  through  all  the  rhythmical  cadences,  till 
Belshazzar  bent  his  head  in  helpless  pity  over  her  in 
comprehensible  plight. 


280  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Thus,  in  the  unmusical  Babylonish  syllables,  ran 
her  psalm : 

"  God  of  all  gods,  of  men  and  of  ages,  of  time  and  of 
tears  :  Creator  of  rivers,  Divider  of  seas,  accept  of  the 
homage  I  proffer  at  noon. 

"  The  winds  Thou  hast  hushed  for  my  peace  have 
obeyed  Thee.  The  sun's  golden  glory  of  mid-day  is 
Thine. 

"Father  of  lowliness,  High-priest  of  sorrow,  mighty 
and  powerful ;  Lover  of  children,  in  mercy  merciless, 
piteous  in  justice  ;  raise  me  from  flesh,  above  wrong, 
to  communion  with  spirits  of  heaven. 

"My  body  before  Thee  is  bended.  My  face  is  up 
lifted  in  prayer  that  is  pure. 

"  Love  all  unholy  by  night  I  admitted.  Yea,  I  have 
loved  love  for  Sin's  sake,  rejoicing  in  earth-begot  pas 
sion.  Godhead  I  lost ;  and  desire  for  goodness  depart 
ed.  Now  in  the  hour  of  trial,  homeward  I  come  to  my 
Father  at  noon  ;  no  more  in  fear  to  approach  Him, 
believing  His  mercy  omniscient.  Home  come  I,  wash 
ed  in  my  tears. 

"  Lord  of  the  noon,  my  Begetter,  absolve  me  1 

"Lord  of  the  sun,  of  the  well-flowing  river,  receive 
me  that  offer  Thee  praise. 

"Lord  of  the  world  and  of  children  and  angels,  be 
queath  me  forgiveness  of  sin. 

"  Lord  of  all  lords,  from  Thy  home  grant  me  peace 
everlasting.  O  Amanu,  Thou  on  High." 

"Amanu,"  came  the  soft  echo  of  a  masculine  voice 
from  behind  her. 

With  a  gasp  that  resembled  a  sob,  Istar  faced  about, 
still  on  her  knees.  In  turning,  she  drew  the  heavy 
veil  that  had  hung  around  her  close  over  her  face,  so 
that,  to  any  one  but  him  who  looked  at  her,  she  would 
have  been  unrecognizable.  Belshazzar,  indeed,  con 
fronted  by  the  black  mask,  felt  his  speech  suddenly 
suppressed  within  him.  His  cloak  had  fallen  to  his 
feet,  and  he  stood  revealed  in  all  the  splendor  of  his 


THE    ANGER    OF    BEL  281 

strength  and  royal  beauty.  But  before  her  he  was 
powerless  to  act.  He  left  the  situation  helplessly  to 
her. 

Istar  herself,  for  the  moment,  was  stunned.  In 
that  first  minute  that  she  looked  upon  him  again,  the 
world  around  her  grew  gray  and  indistinct.  Her 
cold  body  trembled.  In  her  dry  throat  a  sob  struggled 
to  come  forth.  But  in  her  heart — ah,  who  would 
have  believed  it! — was  rising  a  great,  overweening 
joy.  God  had  heard  her!  God  sent  the  answer  to 
her  prayer — such  an  answer  as  she  had  not  dreamed 
of.  Yet  she  knew  that  the  Comforter  was  come.  In 
this  thought  Istar  loosened  the  veil  again  and  took  it 
from  her  head,  so  that  her  face,  white,  thin,  great- 
eyed,  mournful,  and  still  divinely  perfect,  was  revealed 
to  him. 

"Istar!"  he  cried,  half  in  sudden  woe  at  her  too 
apparent  illness,  half  still  in  passionate  admiration. 
He  had  seen  her  before  with  the  silver  aureole  gone, 
but  now  her  very  face,  in  its  shining  purity,  was  of 
refined  silver.  "Istar!"  He  spoke  the  word  tenderly, 
and  went  a  little  nearer  to  her. 

She  had  fixed  her  eyes  upon  his,  and  the  painfully 
strained  look  in  her  face  showed  him  that  she  strove 
to  read  his  mind:  his  purpose  in  coming  to  her.  As 
he  approached  nearer  still  she  rose  suddenly  to  her 
feet,  for  one  instant  held  the  protecting  veil  close  around 
her  figure,  and  then,  still  without  taking  her  fear- 
stricken  eyes  from  his  face,  let  it  drop,  and  stood  there 
revealed  before  him,  clothed  from  head  to  heel  in  a 
scant,  straight  tunic  of  white  wool. 

For  an  instant  Belshazzar  saw  her  stupidly.  His 
eyes  travelled  over  her  and  suddenly  he  saw,  and  his 
self-control  broke  down.  With  a  great,  hoarse  cry  of 
pity  and  of  love,  he  rushed  to  her  and  caught  her 
close  in  both  of  his  strong,  protecting  arms. 

"Istar!  Istar!  Thou  untrusting  one!  My  belov 
ed!  Thou  hast  suffered  alone  and  told  me  nothing! 


282  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Where  was  thy  faith?  Hast  thou  for  an  hour  doubted 
my  love?  Know  you  not  how,  in  my  heart,  I  have 
mourned  thee,  have  yearned  for  thee,  day  by  day? 
Yea,  the  anger  of  Bel  alone  has  kept  us  apart  one 
from  the  other.  The  very  gods  are  jealous  that  I  should 
have  thee,  thou  lotus -flower  of  the  world!  Speak  to 
me,  0  my  beloved!" 

"Belshazzar!  Belshazzar!"  she  whispered,  once, 
twice,  thrice.  Then,  seeming  to  gain  courage  from 
the  syllables  of  his  name,  she  went  on,  half  fearfully 
still:  "I  have  hardly  loved  thee  until  now.  God 
hath  heard  me,  I  think.  But,  oh!  the  long,  rainy 
months!  The  endless  days!  The  eternal  nights! 
How  have  I  prayed  to  die  in  them,  prayed  with  my 
heart  and  with  my  lips  to  die." 

He  caught  her  the  more  convulsively  in  his  arms. 
"And  now?"  he  asked. 

"Ah,  now!  Now  is  my  strength  restored  within 
me!  I  have  new  courage.  I  shall  bear  my  trial 
now.  Thou  needst  not  fear.  Suffering  will  be  sweet, 
for  I  no  longer  dread  the  anger  of  Bel  —  of  the  one 
God." 

"Istar,  are  we  not  now  as  God?  Together  shall 
we  not  defy  all?  The  eleven  great  gods,  and — high 
Istar  herself?" 

Istar  of  Babylon  looked  dazedly  into  his  eyes.  "  Do 
you  not  believe  on  me?"  she  asked,  faintly. 

"I  believe  in  thy  love.     That  is  all  my  belief." 

"But  the  divinity  that  was  mine?" 

He  caught  her  a  little  closer.  "Istar,  art  thou  not 
a  woman?"  he  asked,  gently,  but  inexorably. 

There  was  a  silence.  Istar  was  making  her  last 
struggle  against  fate.  At  the  defeat  her  head  fell 
heavily  forward  upon  his  breast.  "Yea,  I  am  a 
woman,"  she  muttered,  faintly. 

Belshazzar's  lips  were  pressed  upon  her  forehead. 
Then  suddenly  he  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  carried 
her  over  to  the  couch  that  stood  at  one  end  of  the  room. 


THE    ANGER    OF    BEL  283 

On  this  he  laid  her,  and  covered  her  over  with  one  of 
the  heavy,  silken  shawls  used  for  that  purpose.  Then 
he  stood  off  and  inspected  her,  to  see  that  she  was  com 
fortable. 

"  Lie  thou  there,"  he  said,  "  till  I  return  within  the 
hour  with  a  litter  borne  by  my  household  slaves.  In 
thy  trial  I  will  be  beside  thee ;  thou  shalt  be  in  my  house, 
protected  by  my  name,  lodged  as  my  princess.  But  one 
hour  more,  and  then,  for  all  time,  we  shall  be  together!" 

He  spoke  with  perfect  confidence,  and,  having  fin 
ished  his  explanation,  would  have  departed  had  not 
Istar  risen  quickly  from  her  couch  and  moved  towards 
him  again. 

"Gratitude  be  to  my  lord!"  she  said,  with  a  faint 
smile.  "  Yet  I  may  not  leave  this  temple  till  the  hour 
comes.  There  will  be  a  day  when  Bel  shall  cast  rne 
forth  alone  into  the  city.  But,  of  myself,  I  may  not 
leave  the  house  to  which  the  All-Father  intrusted  me. 
Nor  shall  mine  eyes  again  behold  thee  here.  Go 
forth  in  peace,  Belshazzar.  My  great  love  is  thine; 
and  before  many  days  I  think  that  I  must  come  to 
thee.  But  we  must  patiently  abide  apart  until  the 
time.  Now  must  thou  leave  me.  Farewell!" 

"Istar!  What  is  this  folly  that  you  speak!  You 
are  mine — mine  to  care  for,  to  cherish.  Your  suf 
fering  is  also  mine.  I  go  now,  but  to  return  again 
for  you.  Or  shall  I  despatch  one  of  your  eunuchs  to 
the  palace  with  my  message?  Yea,  that  will  I  do, 
and  remain  at  your  side  till  the  litter  comes." 

The  impatient  tone  was  such  as  he  might  have  used 
to  one  of  his  wives,  to  Khamma,  to  any  woman  who 
by  law  belonged  to  him.  Istar  heard  him,  but  felt 
no  anger  at  the  words.  Her  manner  showed  only 
dispassionate  self-possession. 

"  Belshazzar,  I  have  spoken.  Shall  I  say  the  words 
again?  Go  thou  forth  in  peace.  When  my  hour 
comes  I  will  turn  to  thee.  But  we  must  wait  that 
hour,  for  it  is  the  will  of  the  great  Bel." 


284  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

The  prince  royal  was  taken  aback.  This  was  not 
a  woman's  way,  yet  neither  was  it  after  the  manner 
of  men.  He  tried  her  again,  this  time  more  gen 
tly,  with  reason,  with  persuasion,  finally  with  undis 
guised  entreaty.  She  did  not  change.  The  depend 
ent  Istar,  Istar  the  supplicator,  the  woman,  was  gone. 
In  her  place  was  come  the  oracle  of  the  mercy-seat. 
Belshazzar  dared  not  be  angered  by  her  unchanging 
assurance.  In  the  end  he  acknowledged  himself  de 
feated.  He  could  only  kneel  and  implore  that  the 
hour  of  her  home-coming  be  soon.  Then,  having 
held  her  for  one  moment  more  in  his  arms,  he  left  her, 
wrapping  the  mantle  closely  about  him  as  he  stepped 
forth  again  into  the  hot  sunshine  of  his  new  and 
mysterious  world. 

As  for  Istar,  with  the  answering  of  her  prayer  she 
entered  the  land  of  heart's  peace.  God  in  high  heaven 
had  not  forgotten  her.  Belshazzar,  on  earth  below, 
waited  her  coming.  She  could  feel  that  the  day  of 
her  suffering  was  close  at  hand,  and  she  was  fortify 
ing  herself  to  endure  it.  Thus  ten  days  —  ten  days 
of  the  fair  .spring  —  passed  by.  Istar's  black -veiled 
form  was  seen  morning  and  evening  on  the  temple 
platform,  and  she  sat  in  the  temple  regularly  at  the 
mercy  -  hour,  but  did  not  ascend  the  ziggurat.  Dur 
ing  this  time  she  knew  but  ten  uneasy  moments. 
These  were  when,  once  each  day,  always,  as  it  were, 
by  chance,  she  encountered  the  lean  and  bent  figure 
of  Daniel  the  Jew,  who  lurked,  morning  and  even 
ing,  about  this  spot.  His  thin,  vulture-like  face,  with 
its  scrawny,  gray  -  streaked  beard,  and  his  small, 
beady,  piercing  eyes,  haunted  Istar's  thoughts,  and 
remained  with  her  as  an  omen  of  evil;  and  she  shrank 
from  him  even  less  for  herself  than  for  some  unrea 
sonable  ill  that  he  seemed  to  promise  to  Belshazzar, 
her  earth -lover.  Daniel  never  addressed  her,  never 
failed  profoundly  to  salute  her,  never  remained  longer 
than  a  bare  second  within  her  sight.  And  she  strove 


THE    ANGER    OF    BEL  285 

to  put  him  from  her  mind,  and  to  give  all  of  her  days 
and  nights  to  careful  preparation  for  the  approaching 
hours  of  her  trial. 

On  the  morning  of  April  2 1st  her  attendants  found 
her  lying  in  a  swoon  on  her  bed.  She  was  quickly 
revived,  and  awoke  to  the  world  with  a  look  of  such 
happiness  in  her  face  that  her  women  wondered  si 
lently,  and  went  back  to  their  duties  rejoicing.  Is- 
tar  attended  the  morning  sacrifice — a  thing  that  she 
had  not  done  for  three  months  past.  She  drank 
a  cupful  of  milk,  watched  the  goat's  flesh  roasted 
on  the  altar,  heard  the  prayers  for  the  morning,  and 
extended  the  mercy  -  hour  far  into  the  afternoon. 
The  sun  hung  just  above  the  horizon  when  she  re- 
entered  the  court-yard  of  her  dwelling  and  called  for 
her  evening  meal.  With  unquestioning  surprise  it  was 
brought  her,  and  she  ate  of  it.  Then,  in  the  mellow 
evening,  she  said  her  farewell  to  the  consecrated 
home  where  she  had  dwelt  so  long. 

As  Istar  left  her  dwelling  and  walked  slowly  towards 
the  foot  of  the  ziggurat,  she  saw  that  the  whole  city 
lay  in  a  flood  of  gold.  Her  steps  were  slow  and  fraught 
with  pain.  As  she  halted  at  the  foot  of  the  high  tower 
to  look  upward,  wondering  how  she  should  reach  its 
top,  a  voice  from  another  sphere  spoke  to  her  and 
bade  her  hasten  her  steps.  It  was  almost  seven 
months  ago  that  her  feet  had  last  touched  this  pave 
ment.  Then  she  had  not  been  physically  weak,  but 
mentally — !  She  sighed  as  she  remembered  her  terror 
of  herself  and  of  all  her  surroundings.  At  last,  with 
a  deep  breath,  she  began  her  ascent.  Up,  up,  and 
up,  step  by  step,  while  the  glorified  light  of  day's  death 
swam  before  her  vision  and  the  evening  wind  fanned 
her  cheeks,  while  the  sweet  scent  of  the  flowers  that 
covered  the  desert  was  borne  to  her  by  the  breeze, 
she  went,  a  prayer  in  her  heart,  a  resolute  determina 
tion  to  endure  bravely  holding  her  thoughts.  Up  and 


286  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

up  she  mounted,  till  at  last  the  empty  summit  of  the 
tower  was  gained,  and  she  stood  again  at  the  door  of 
the  room  that  had  seen  her  incarnation. 

Here,  on  the  height,  Istar  stopped  to  look  out  over 
Babylon.  It  stretched  around  and  below  her  like  a 
mirage,  like  the  vision  of  a  holier  city,  wrapped  all 
in  clouds  of  blinding  fire.  A  little  to  the  east,  near 
enough  so  that  the  white  designs  on  the  shining 
turquoise  ground-work  were  fairly  distinct,  rose,  from 
the  tufty  green  of  the  surrounding  park,  the  new 
palace  built  by  Nabonidus,  in  which  Belshazzar 
lived.  Along  the  east  side  of  this  building  ran  the 
bright  Euphrates,  passing  here  the  most  imposing 
point  in  all  its  mighty  course.  Opposite  the  new 
palace,  on  the  other  bank,  were  the  two  huge  struct 
ures  once  inhabited  by  Nabopollassar  and  his  son, 
that  greatest  of  Babylonish  rulers.  Across  from 
Nebuchadrezzar's  former  home,  connected  with  it  by 
the  great  bridge,  itself  a  triumph  of  engineering,  was 
the  palace  -  crowned  mound  of  the  great  one's  Me 
dian  queen,  called  by  subsequent  generations  "the 
hanging  gardens."  This  alone  of  all  the  unused 
royal  dwellings  was  kept  in  repair  by  the  present 
ruler.  And  now,  at  the  time  of  the  day's  highest 
glory,  Istar's  eyes  eagerly  sought  its  fresh  verdure,  the 
tier  on  tier  of  leafy  foliage  that  hid  such  fragrances 
and  such  blossoms  as  she  rarely  saw.  And  while  she 

'gazed  upon  the  monument  of  a  king's  devotion,  the 
lonely  woman  found  it  in  her  heart  to  wish  that  she 
might  have  been  that  queen  whose  sorrows  and  whose 
earthly  joys  were  now  so  comfortably  ended,  whose 
mortality  had  come  to  dust,  whose  soul  enjoyed  its 

'  just  rewards. 

Istar's  eyes  moved  on  down  the  river  to  the  lower 
part  of  the  city,  which  consisted  of  acre  upon  acre  of 
low,  brick  buildings,  hardly  relieved  by  a  single  tower 
or  raised  roof,  stretching  in  gray  monotony  off  to  where 
Imgur-Bel  suddenly  reared  its  gigantic  height  sky- 


THE    ANGER    OF    BEL  287 

ward.  Over  this  wall  and  the  top  of  its  still  loftier 
brother,  Nimitti-Bel,  Istar,  high  as  she  stood,  could 
not  see.  Her  brick  -  weary  eyes  yearned  for  some 
glimpse  of  the  quiet  palm-groves  that  lined  the  river- 
bank  beyond  Babylon.  Indeed,  their  fragrant  fresh 
ness  was  borne  up  to  her  by  the  evening  wind.  Clos 
ing  her  eyes,  she  saw  them  as,  nine  months  before, 
she  had  watched  them  from  her  barge  on  the  way 
to  Erech.  And  thus,  while  she  contemplated  many 
things,  the  sunset  light  began  to  fade,  the  shadows 
mingled  together  over  the  gray  roofs  and  bright  tow 
ers  of  the  city.  Twilight  deepened;  and  the  moon 
was  not  yet  risen.  So  at  last  Istar  turned  from  the 
far-stretching  scene  and  lifted  up  the  curtain  of  her 
long-unused  shrine. 

She  was  greeted  by  darkness.  Evidently  it  was 
many  weeks  since  any  one  had  entered  the  little  room. 
A  fine,  white  dust  lay  sifted  over  the  rugs,  the  table, 
the  golden  chair,  the  couch  where  Charmides  last  had 
lain.  Istar  looked  round  with  a  sob  in  her  heart — 
a  sob  of  pitiable  weakness  and  pain.  It  was  impossi 
ble  now  for  her  to  summon  any  attendant.  Neither 
had  she  strength  to  descend  the  ziggurat  again.  Leav 
ing  the  curtain  pulled  wide  open,  that  she  might  feel 
some  communication  writh  the  world  beyond,  she  went 
to  the  couch,  removed  the  top  rug  with  all  its  dust, 
then  let  fall  her  veil,  and  offered  up  one  last  prayer 
for  pity  and  for  strength  before  she  lay  down  resign 
edly  in  the  night. 

Twilight  slowly  passed  across  the  earth  and  trailed 
away  into  the  beyond.  Thereupon  came  terror  of  the 
dark,  together  with  the  first  stabs  of  sharp  pain. 
She  had  one  swift,  torturing  moment,  and  a  low  cry 
at  the  strangeness  of  it  escaped  her.  Then  calm 
ness  returned.  She  was  prepared,  she  thought,  for 
the  rest.  One  moment,  two,  three,  passed,  in  strained 
expectation.  The  darkness  hung  around  her  like  a 
covering,  but  the  suffering  did  not  return.  Her  lips 


288  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

moved  continually,  but  her  brain  refused  to  work.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  the  night  must  be  passing.  Soon, 
perhaps,  she  might  sleep.  Her  eyes  were  closed;  her 
mind  was  slipping  away  into  freedom,  when  —  she 
started  up  again.  It  was  once  more  upon  her,  this 
dreaded  thing;  and  now  she  knew  that  there  was  no 
escape.  When  it  had  passed  this  time  she  waited, 
stiff  and  strong,  hands  clenched,  breath  coming  and 
going  rapidly,  for  the  return. 

It  came  once  again,  and  yet  again,  more  and  more 
swiftly,  more  and  more  terribly.  She  made  no  sound 
now.  Her  eyes  stared  straight  into  the  blackness  with 
the  gaze  of  one  that  does  not  see.  Here  was  some 
thing  that,  with  all  her  months  of  preparation,  she 
was  not  prepared  for.  No  imagination  could  have 
painted  this;  and  her  loneliness  but  added  to  her  terror. 
From  the  night  a  thousand  malignant  eyes  seemed 
fixed  upon  her  with  the  look  of  Daniel  the  Jew.  Yet 
presently  she  discovered  that  these  eyes  were  stars — 
fair,  silver  stars  that  shone,  far  away,  through  the 
open  door-way.  A  little  later  the  night  grew  luminous, 
and  the  hideous  darkness  was  softened  and  smoothed 
away.  Pale,  yellow  rays  shot  up  the  sky,  dimming 
the  stars'  white  radiance,  banishing  their  gaze.  It 
was  the  moon,  the  blessed  moon,  Istar's  father,  who, 
entering  the  heavens,  put  her  tormentors  to  flight. 
The  woman's  thoughts  were  growing  incoherent. 
She  was  a  little  delirious.  Her  body  was  racked  and 
torn  and  bruised.  The  agony,  too  great  to  be  realized 
and  endured,  drove  her  into  numb  unconsciousness 
— an  unconsciousness  that  was  hideous  with  subcon 
scious  understanding.  The  one  thought  to  which  she 
clung  through  all  the  hours  of  anguish  was  of  the 
morning  —  the  merciless  daylight,  wrhen  the  search 
ing  sun,  the  discerning,  prying  sun,  must  come  upon 
her  here,  must  see,  must  know — must  disclose  all  to 
the  wondering  world. 

The  fair  moonlight  sickened  her  now.     Her  eyes 


THE    ANGER    OF    BEL  289 

swam  and  her  head  reeled  with  its  bluish  light.  She 
prayed  for  clouds  —  and  rain.  Rain!  Water!  The 
thought  reached  her  suddenly,  out  of  the  aching  void. 
If  there  were  only  some  one — one  only  creature,  to 
put  water  to  her  dying  lips!  She  burned,  she  parched, 
she  scorched  with  thirst.  Ah,  if  some  one  were  at 
hand!  She  tried  to  think  of  a  name  to  call.  And 
presently  one  recurred  to  her.  She  did  not  stop  to 
think  over  it.  The  syllables  hung  ready  on  her  lips 
— were  said  in  a  voice  so  faint  and  weak  that  one  stand 
ing  in  the  door-way  could  not  have  heard  them.  It 
was  a  liquid  word,  one  easy  to  hear,  and  the  only  one 
that  her  mind,  in  its  strange  plight,  retained. 

"Allaraine!"  she  whispered. 

A  breath  of  cool  air  poured  into  the  little  room,  and 
borne  upon  it  was  a  rosy  beam  that  gradually  suffused 
the  bed  in  a  delicate  radiance.  With  the  first  shedding 
of  this  light,  Istar's  pain  suddenly  ceased.  Her  spirit 
was  uplifted  with  the  mighty  relief.  Her  fast -shut 
eyes  opened  again.  Above  and  about  her  was  open 
space.  The  roof  of  the  shrine  was  gone,  and  its  walls 
also.  All  around  there  floated  a  vast  concourse  of 
dimly  outlined  forms  —  millions  of  archetypes,  borne 
on  their  outspread  wings.  A  chord  of  distant  music 
rang  do\vn  the  shaft  of  light,  and  Istar  knew  from  whom 
it  came.  Gravely  the  goddess  greeted  her  compan 
ions;  yet  none  returned  the  greeting,  or  seemed  to 
recognize  her  presence.  She  tried  to  go  to  them,  but 
the  bed  remained  beneath  her.  She  was  still  a  prisoner. 
After  some  moments  of  waiting  in  the  midst  of  this 
familiar  scene,  the  rainbow  path  into  her  room  pal 
pitated  with  fresh,  living  light.  The  bells  rang  louder 
in  her  ears.  One  form  had  separated  itself  from  the 
confused  mass,  and  became  distinct  to  her  eyes.  Alla 
raine  dropped  out  of  the  high  space,  and  was  pres 
ently  standing  at  her  bedside.  The  room  closed  in 
again.  The  pink  light  disappeared.  Once  more  the 
moonlight  stole  upon  her.  The  night  was  sweet  with 


290  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

the  perfume  of  the  lotus,  and  Istar  wept  with  delight. 
She  was  there  alone  with  Allaraine,  her  brother  of  the 
skies. 

Through  the  long  hours  he  ministered  to  her,  hold 
ing  the  cup  of  water  to  her  lips,  plaiting  up  the  heavy 
masses  of  hair  that  swept  the  floor  at  her  side. 
And  when  the  last  agony  came  upon  her,  his  voice 
held  her  fast  to  the  thread  of  her  strange  existence. 
Finally,  at  the  night's  end,  it  was  he  who  put  into  her 
arms  the  living  one  whom  she  had  brought  into  the 
world. 

Bending  over  them  both,  the  god  blessed  the  child 
and  kissed  the  mother's  brows  before  he  went  his 
way  out  into  space,  leaving  behind  him  a  trail  of  song 
that  was  sweeter  than  the  perfume  of  the  jasmine. 
There,  from  the  spot  into  which  he  flew,  the  day  broke, 
and  the  moon  fainted  on  the  western  horizon.  Istar's 
heart  throbbed  with  a  great,  new  peace  and  a  human 
love.  Life  was  no  longer  strange  to  her.  The  bring 
ing  of  it  forth  brought  her  understanding  of  its  rich 
ness.  And,  as  the  child  on  her  breast  lay  sleeping, 
so  at  last  her  own  eyes  closed/until,  while  the  light 
brightened  and  the  great  city  woke  again,  the  soul  of 
Istar  was  at  peace. 

At  sunrise  a  flood  of  yellow  beams  poured  into  the 
little  room,  illuminating  everything  in  it,  throwing  a 
halo  over  the  motionless  figures  of  the  mother  and 
child  on  their  well-ordered  couch.  Suddenly  the 
smooth  light  was  broken  by  a  shadow  that  darkened 
the  door- way.  A  man  stood  there  on  the  threshold, 
peering  into  the  room.  His  bright,  black  eyes  trav 
elled  swiftly  over  the  scene,  resting  last  on  the  bed. 
lie  gave  then  a  sudden,  swift  start.  Glancing  quickty 
behind  him  to  make  sure  that  he  was  alone,  he  took  a 
single  noiseless  step  inside,  and,  inch  by  inch,  moved 
to  the  couch,  bending  over  it  till  the  end  of  his  grizzled 
beard  all  but  touched  the  cheek  of  Istar. 

As  if  the  glance  of  the  intruder  could  be  felt  through 


THE    ANGER    OF    BEL  291 

the  unconsciousness  of  sleep,  Istar  stirred  restlessly. 
The  infant  on  her  breast  gave  forth  a  faint  cry  and 
opened  its  deep  eyes  upon  the  morning  world.  Thereat 
the  Jew,  in  timely  fright,  turned  and  scurried  hastily 
from  the  room,  escaping  Istar's  glance  by  no  more 
than  three  seconds.  And  as  Istar,  deeply  disturbed, 
looked  out  upon  the  world,  she  suddenly  caught  her 
little  one  close  to  her  in  her  protecting  arms,  murmur 
ing  gently: 

"0  God!  0  God!  I  give  Thee  praise!  Spare  me 
this  inestimable  gift!  Leave  me  for  my  joy  this  little 
life  of  mine — and  take  all  that  Thou  hast  given  else, 
great  Father!" 


XI 
FROM    THE    HOUSE    OF    HEAVEN 

WHEN  Daniel  was  far  beyond  the  range  of  Istar's 
vision  he  did  not  lessen  the  rapidity  of  his  gait. 
Rather,  he  increased  it,  till  the  last  five  yards  of  his 
descent  of  the  ziggurat  were  done  in  a  quick  run;  and 
the  few  people  already  abroad  in  the  square  of  Istar 
looked  up  in  amazement  to  see  the  unkempt  figure  of 
the  slinking  Jew  advancing  at  an  eager  trot  across 
the  open  space  and  into  the  A-Ibur-Sabu. 

Beltishazzar,  however,  had  at  that  time  little  thought 
for  the  opinions  of  the  people  whom  he  passed.  The 
one  thing  that  he  desired  above  all  others,  the  thing 
that  had  assumed  a  place  paramount  to  his  disinter 
ested  historical  desires — the  downfall  of  Babylon  and 
the  freeing  of  his  race — had  come  to  pass.  Moreover, 
the  accomplishment  of  it  was,  apparently,  by  the  will 
of  God  alone.  Surely  no  man  earnestly  wishful  of 
attaining  to  a  certain  end  ever  arrived  at  it  by  simpler 
or  more  thorough  process.  It  was  a  miracle.  It  re 
quired  no  explanation,  no  twisting  of  facts,  no  blus 
tering  denunciations.  Who  would  ask  stronger  proof 
of  the  mortality  of  this  impostor  than  the  sight  of  her 
child,  and  her  own  weakness?  Reverence  for  the 
mother-love,  for  its  beauty,  for  heart's  peace,  did  not 
occur  to  the  prophet.  He  felt  that  Istar's  great  sin, 
her  tremendous  fraud,  her  immense  daring,  were  things 
that  a  statesman  might  secretly  marvel  at,  possibly 
admire,  in  a  way.  But  naturally  these  feelings  would 
never  be  expressed. 


FROM   THE    HOUSE    OF    HEAVEN    293 

In  such  a  course  wound  Daniel's  triumphant  thoughts 
as  he  hurried  with  them  down  the  wide  street  towards 
the  palace  of  the  high-priest  of  Bel.  It  was  unusually 
early  in  the  day  for  an  interview  with  Amraphel;  and 
of  this  the  Jew  had  scarcely  stopped  to  think  when  he 
halted  before  the  outer  gate  of  the  ecclesiastical  dwell 
ing.  The  night-guards  had  not  yet  made  way  for 
the  more  gorgeously  attired  eunuchs  of  the  day;  but 
the  Jew  was  too  familiar  a  figure  to  all  Amraphel's 
household  to  be  denied  admittance  by  any  of  his  ser 
vants.  There  was  some  little  doubt  expressed  as  to 
their  lord's  having  risen.  But  the  doubts  were  couched 
in  reverent  terms,  and  shortly  the  lean  and  ill-kempt 
Jew  wras  ushered  through  the  vast,  empty  courts  and 
halls,  to  the  little  dining-room  of  the  high -priest's 
private  suite. 

Only  two  slaves,  servitors,  were  in  this  room  when 
the  visitor  entered  it;  and  these  were  busy  preparing 
for  the  arrival  of  the  master.  The  wrought  ivory 
and  ebony  couch  had  already  been  drawn  up  before 
the  table  on  which  various  fruits  were  laid  out.  And 
shortly  after  Daniel  made  his  appearance;  a  place 
was  added  to  the  table  and  an  arm-chair  drawn  to  it, 
evidently  for  him.  He  would  have  seated  himself, 
when  there  came  a  sound  of  steps  in  the  passage-way, 
and  Amraphel,  white-robed  and  whiter-bearded,  came 
in,  followed  by  two  cringing  slaves  bearing  the  long- 
handled  feather  fans  in  use  even  at  this  early  season. 
Beltishazzar  read  the  priestly  mood  at  sight.  It  bore 
small  relation  to  that  benign  and  fatherly  manner  as 
sumed  for  the  morning  sacrifice,  and  coming  on  natu 
rally  of  an  evening,  after  the  long  day  of  adulation 
and  worship.  Daniel  almost  prostrated  himself  on  the 
old  man's  entrance,  and  got  in  return  a  slight  acknowl 
edgment  of  his  presence,  and  the  words : 

"Is  your  visit  early,  Jew,  or  the  last  of  your 
night?" 

"  The  last. — May  it  please  you,  lord  of  Bel,  to  see 


294  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

me  alone.  My  news  is  not  such  as  should  grow  cold. 
Over  it,  all  Babylon  will  laugh  for  joy." 

Amraphel  looked  at  this  companion  of  many  schemes 
a  little  sourly  as  he  sank  back  on  his  couch,  and  took 
up  an  orange  from  its  dish  of  gold.  "  What  is  the 
nature  of  this  laughing  news  that  you  should  impart 
it  by  stealth?" 

Suddenly  Daniel  lost  his  patience  —  a  thing  not 
usual  with  him.  "My  lord  receives  it  thus"  —  he 
snapped  his  fingers — "and  behold,  I  take  it  to  Vul- 
Raman  of  Bit-Yakin,  who,  hearing  it,  will  not  scoff." 
And  the  Jew  actually  made  as  if  to  get  up  from  his 
chair. 

"Stop!"  cried  the  high-priest,  sharply.  "There  is 
no  cause  for  anger.  Sit  you,  and  we  will  speak  of  it." 

Daniel  shrugged  his  indifference,  but  slipped  into 
his  chair  again,  without,  however,  offering  to  touch 
food. 

My  lord  looked  round  upon  his  slaves,  indicating 
each  of  them  with  a  little  glance,  and  designating 
those  that  fanned  him  with  a  gesture.  "Depart  and 
leave  us,"  he  said,  shortly. 

His  command  was  obeyed  with  decided  alacrity, 
and  when  the  bare  feet  had  patted  their  noiseless  way 
far  down  the  adjoining  corridor,  Daniel  straightened 
up  in  his  chair  with  a  little  rustle  and  said,  in  a  low 
tone :  "  My  news,  Amraphel,  is,  shortly,  this :  Istar  of 
Babylon,  whom  we  have  feared,  is  a  woman — a  \vom- 
an,  weak,  powerless,  full  of  sin." 

Daniel  paused,  and  Amraphel  looked  at  him  with  a 
little  curl  of  the  lip.  "Is  that  all?"  he  said,  after  a 
pause.  "Is  that  all?  Art  thou  drunk,  Jew?" 

Daniel  did  not  lose  his  temper  now.  He  smiled, 
contemplatively,  and  went  on :  "  Nay,  I  am  not  drunk, 
lord  high-priest,  neither  is  that  all  my  news — yet,  in 
a  way,  it  is  all  told.  If  all  Babylon  knew  too  well 
that  Istar  were  a  woman — and  weak — and  sinful? 
Hein?  Would  it  not  be  enough?" 


FROM    THE    HOUSE    OF    HEAVEN    295 

"If  the  people  knew —  the  people  —  yea,  it  might 
be." 

Thereupon  Daniel  told  without  more  ado  all  that 
he  had  seen,  and  how  Istar  lay  at  this  moment  in  her 
sanctuary  with  the  infant  in  her  arms. 

Then,  indeed,  Amraphel  was  touched  to  the  quick. 
Verily,  here  was  news !  Here  was  such  news  as  caused 
the  most  unemotional  man  in  the  Great  City  to  start 
up  from  his  couch  and  pace  the  floor  with  hurried  and 
uneven  steps,  his  eyes  alight,  his  pale  face  tinged  with 
red  excitement,  his  hands  busily  twisting  his  robe. 
It  was  some  moments  before  he  spoke,  but,  once  begun, 
Daniel  sat  silent  and  amazed. 

"Ah,  Beltishazzar,  wisely  mayst  thou  rejoice  now. 
Babylon  —  Babylon,  the  city  of  Nabopolassar,  my 
father,  shall  at  last  stand  free  before  me!  Listen, 
listen,  all  ye  people!  Istar  of  Babylon  is  fallen.  She 
is  fallen  who  reigned  as  a  goddess — over  me.  Mark 
me,  Jew,  time  was  when  Istar  of  Babylon  was  divine. 
The  glory  of  the  unknown  God  flowed  around  her. 
Her  lips  spoke  truth.  In  her  heart  was  hidden  all 
knowledge.  The  life  that  she  lived  was  unapproach 
able  by  mortal  man.  And  while  she  remained  thus, 
I  dared  not  try  my  full  power  in  the  city. 

"  But  now — now !  Ah,  Beltishazzar,  now  the  fear  is 
gone!  The  goddess  has  tasted  the  bitterness  of  hu 
man  love  and  is  become  mortal.  Her  sin  has  found 
her  out.  To-day,  even  to-day,  .she  shall  be  driven  from 
that  temple  that  her  presence  defiles.  Her  downfall 
shall  be  cried  aloud  to  them  that  have  worshipped  her. 
Her  disgrace  shall  be  proclaimed  throughout  the  king 
dom.  Let  her  invoke  what  aid  she  may,  human  or 
divine!  I  defy  her  now  to  deny  me  omnipotence  in 
Babylon. 

"And  thou,  Daniel — thou  that  broughtest  this  word 
— have  no  fear  that  thy  people  shall  lack  favor  in  my 
sight,  and  in  the  sight  of  the  mighty  lord  of  Elam. 
Let  us  henceforth  work  together  for  that  end  which, 


296  ISTAR   OF   BABYLON 

in  the  name  of  our  gods  and  of  the  God  of  Judah,  shall 
be  accomplished  within  the  year!" 

He  paused  in  his  speech  and  in  his  walk,  and  his 
head  fell  upon  his  breast.  He  descended  quickly,  did 
Amraphel,  from  heroics  to  practicality;  and  this,  per 
haps,  was  one  reason  of  his  great  success  in  life. 
Daniel  eyed  him  in  silence  till  the  echoes  of  the  tirade 
had  died  away  and  there  had  been  time  for  thought. 
Then  he  said,  shortly : 

"You  will  drive  her  from  the  temple,  Amraphel? 
How?" 

"By  Nebo,  with  an  ox-goad,  that  is  used  for  cattle!" 

Daniel  shrugged  incredulously.  "  And  whither  drive 
you  her?" 

"She  may  go,  if  she  will,  to  her  proper  abode — the 
temple  of  false  I  star,  near  the  gate  of  the  setting  sun." 

Daniel  drew  a  sharp  breath.  "Father  Abraham!" 
he  muttered,  himself  amazed  at  Amraphel's  pitiless 
joy  in  triumph.  Then,  a  moment  later,  he  added :  "  It 
is  a  just  ending.  Well,  my  lord,  I  take  my  departure 
now." 

"  Thy  departure !  By  Marduk,  thou  shalt  come  with 
me  to  the  temple!  Thou  must  be  at  my  side  when  I 
enter  her  shrine." 

Daniel  cringed  quickly,  and  proffered  a  swift  excuse. 
Keen  he  might  be;  bold  in  his  way;  master  of  diplo 
macy,  of  deceit,  and  cunning;  but  discreet,  cautious, 
nay,  cowardly,  when  it  came  to  his  personal  safety, 
he  was  always.  It  was  true  that  Istar  was  no  more 
and  no  less  than  a  weak  and  unfortunate  woman; 
but  enough  of  divinity  still  clung  to  the  thought  of 
her  to  keep  the  Jew  far  from  any  desire  to  stand  before 
the  people  as  her  accuser.  Amraphel  might  be  angry, 
might  persuade  or  command.  In  the  present  matter 
Beltishazzar  was  immovable.  Amraphel  recognized  it 
presently,  and  saw  that  nothing  was  to  be  done  but 
to  summon  Vul-Raman,  with  all  possible  speed,  from 
the  neighboring  temple,  and  to  command  a  chariot  to 


FROM   THE    HOUSE    OF    HEAVEN    297 

be  prepared  at  once  and  brought  into  the  outer  court 
of  the  palace. 

These  things  were  quickly  done;  and  Daniel  had 
been  gone  for  many  minutes  by  the  time  Vul-Raman 
answered  the  peremptory  summons  and  stood  before 
his  superior.  The  priest  of  Nebo  was  in  a  temper, 
and  greeted  Amraphel  in  an  undisguisedly  irritable 
tone. 

"My  lord,  it  is  the  hour  for  sacrifice.  My  place 
was  at  the  altar.  By  your  message  hath  Nebo  lost 
his  morning  savor,  and  the  temple  the  flesh  of  three 
goats.  What  is  needed  of  me  here?" 

"And  has  the  freeing  of  Babylon  cost  the  price  of 
three  goats,  0  Bit-Yakin?  Pray  thou  for  strength 
to  endure  the  loss!" 

Vul-Raman  looked  at  him  in  displeasure.  "Are 
thy  words  oracles?"  he  said,  sourly. 

"Within  the  hour  their  light  will  illume  thy  under 
standing.  Now  thou  art  to  drive  with  me  up  to  the 
temple  of  Istar.  They  bring  my  cloak." 

Vul  -  Raman  looked  on  with  sudden  interest  as 
two  slaves  entered  the  room  where  he  stood.  One  of 
them  carried  a  long,  woollen  garment  of  Tyrian  weave, 
heavily  embroidered  in  golden  threads  in  a  pattern 
containing  the  various  symbols  of  the  different  gods. 
It  was  a  mantle  wTorn  only  upon  the  greatest  occa 
sions.  This  being  fastened  upon  Amraphel's  shoul 
ders  with  well- wrought  pins  of  gold,  the  second  slave 
crowned  the  high-priest  with  his  golden-feathered  tiara, 
sandalled  him  with  sandals  embroidered  in  the  same 
rich  metal,  and  finally  put  into  his  hand  something 
that  caused  Vul-Raman  to  exclaim: 

"What,  in  the  name  of  Ner gal's  holiness,  do  you 
with  the  bullock's  goad,  Amraphel!" 

"Come  you  with  me,  Vul-Raman.  Our  way  lies 
to  the  north,  to  the  temple  of  Istar.  From  it  I  shall 
drive  forth  the  false  woman  that  dwells  there  receiv 
ing  worship.  For — " 


298  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"Amraphel!"  Vul- Raman  stopped  short.  "Art 
thou  raving?  What  canst  thou  do  against  Istar? 
Because  by  her  mercy  we  are  spared  punishment  for 
our  last  sin  against  her,  darest  thou  again  attempt 
her  downfall?  Attempt  it  by  such  means  as  this?  If 
thy  mind  has  not  left  thy  body,  then  thine  arrogance 
leads  thee  to  death!" 

The  high-priest  waited  till  the  other  had  finished 
his  protest.  Then  he  said,  calmly :  "  Istar  of  Babylon 
is  a  woman  with  child.  Her  divinity  is  gone.  1  go  to 
drive  her  from  the  heavenly  house." 

In  silence  the  two  men  proceeded  to  the  court 
yard,  where,  surrounded  by  a  group  of  slaves,  stood 
the  golden  chariot  with  its  white  horses  and  flashing 
harness.  The  driver  stood  holding  the  reins  in  his 
hands.  On  the  arrival  of  the  two  priests  there  was 
a  general  obeisance.  Amraphel  entered  the  vehicle 
first.  Vul-Raman,  not  without  a  perceptible  hesita 
tion,  followed  him.  The  master  raised  his  hand,  the 
driver  shouted  to  his  steeds,  and  the  powerful  animals, 
with  one  spring,  shot  forward,  drawing  the  whirring 
chariot  after  them  through  the  bronze  gate  way,  out 
into  the  A-Ibur-Sabu. 

"The  temple  of  Istar  1"  said  Amraphel. 

The  flashing  wheels  turned  to  the  north,  and  in 
brave  silence  they  proceeded  towards  the  square  at 
the  end  of  the  broad  street.  Not  a  word  was  spoken 
during  the  drive.  The  two  priests,  one  on  either  side 
of  the  driver,  stood  like  statues — Vul-Raman  with  a 
face  as  white  as  a  summer  cloud,  Amraphel  in  im 
movable  calm.  The  right  hand  of  the  high -priest 
rested  on  the  rim  of  the  chariot  in  front  of  him.  His 
left,  the  one  with  which  he  clasped  the  short,  black 
goad,  with  its  two  cruel  leathern  thongs,  hung  at  his 
side.  As  they  went  along,  the  people  in  the  street 
stopped  to  stare  in  curiosity  as  to  the  wherefore  of 
Amraphers  state  magnificence,  and  Vul-Raman's  ap 
pearance  so  far  from  his  temple  at  the  hour  of  morn- 


FROM   THE    HOUSE    OF    HEAVEN    299 

ing  sacrifice.  When  finally  they  entered  the  square 
of  Istar,  it  was  wholly  deserted ;  for  service  was  going 
on  in  the  temple,  and  a  respectable  throng  was  assem 
bled  to  witness  the  weekly  slaughter  of  doves  and  the 
broiling  of  their  flesh  over  the  cone-fire  on  the  altar. 

"Istar  will  be  there  at  the  sacrifice,  doubtless," 
whispered  Vul-Raman,  hurriedly,  as  they  alighted 
together  at  the  steps  of  the  platform. 

"Let  us  seek  her,"  was  all  the  reply  he  got.  Am- 
raphel  exhibited  not  a  trace  of  uneasiness,  and  yet, 
to  a  certain  extent,  the  fear  of  the  priest  of  Nebo  had 
its  effect  on  him.  Mentally  he  cursed  the  prudent 
cowardice  of  Daniel,  who,  having  arranged  this  sit 
uation,  had  left  him  to  run  the  chance  of  disgrace  and 
defeat  alone. 

As  they  came  to  the  door  of  the  temple  the  two  priests 
found  themselves  confronting  the  throng  of  men  and 
women  who  were  just  emerging  into  daylight.  The 
sacrifice  was  over.  But  as  Amraphel,  in  all  his  mag 
nificence  halted  before  them  in  the  door-way,  the  peo 
ple  also  came  to  a  stand-still,  lowered  their  heads,  and 
waited  silently  to  learn  if  there  was  a  reason  for  his 
coming.  For  some  seconds,  however,  Amraphel  stood 
passive.  He  perceived  the  officiating  priestess  coming 
towards  him  from  the  altar,  and  he  waited  for  her  to 
reach  his  side.  Then  she,  and  Bit-Yakin,  and  finally 
the  high-priest,  performed  the  ceremonious  greetings  of 
the  religious  code;  and  only  after  these  were  over  did 
Amraphel  say: 

"We  seek  the  lady — Istar  of  Babylon.  Is  she  in 
the  temple,  0  servant  of  the  great  goddess?" 

"The  spirit  of  the  goddess  hath  attended  on  the 
sacrifice.  So  spake  the  omens,  most  high  lord,"  was 
the  disturbed  reply. 

"Belit  Istar,  then,  is  not  here?" 

"  Nay,  Lord  Amraphel.  She  is  in  her  shrine  at  the 
top  of  the  ziggurat,  to  which  she  retired  at  sunset  yes 
terday." 


300  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"We  will  ascend  into  her  presence." 

The  priestess  started.  "Nay — nay!  Let  my  lord 
remain  here  below.  The  goddess  is  alone  with  her 
brothers.  She  commands  that  none  shall  ascend  to 
her  to-day." 

"Begone,  woman!"  shouted  Amraphel,  suddenly 
breaking  out  into  a  very  well-arranged  burst  of  anger. 
"Begone,  thou  deceived  and  deceiving  servant  of  a 
false  goddess!  Hear  ye,  ye  people!"  And  he  turned 
to  the  astonished  multitude.  "  Hear  ye  who,  for  many 
months — nay,  years — have  worshipped  at  an  altar  of 
evil!  Istar  of  Babylon,  whom,  unknowing,  ye  have 
called  Belit,  spouse  of  the  great  Bel,  is  no  goddess. 
As  the  great  gods  have  revealed  to  me  by  night, 
she  is  but  a  woman,  sacrilegiously  dwelling  in  the 
house  of  heaven,  accepting  the  homage  of  the  multi 
tude,  delivering  oracles  from  the  mercy -seat,  receiv 
ing  offerings  and  the  sacrifice  day  by  day  throughout 
the  months,  deceiving  you  and  them  that  dwell  with 
you.  Now  I  come  to  expose  her  and  to  deliver  her  up 
to  you  to  do  with  as  ye  will.  Come  ye  forth  and  as 
semble  about  the  foot  of  the  ziggurat  while  I  ascend, 
that  ye  may  behold  her  when  she  comes  forth  from 
the  holy  shrine  of  the  outraged  goddess  that  dwells 
afar  from  us  in  the  silver  sky." 

Amraphel  made  this  speech  with  such  an  air  of 
mingled  sorrow  and  outraged  dignity  that  Vul-Raman, 
for  all  his  amazement,  could  not  but  applaud  it.  The 
crowd  showed  less  indignation  than  bewilderment  and 
curiosity.  But  as  the  old  man  turned  from  them  to 
cross  the  platform,  the  people  followed  him  like  sheep, 
leaving  only  the  wailing  hierodules  behind  them  in  the 
temple. 

Bit-Yakin  and  the  high-priest  arrived  at  the  foot  of 
the  ziggurat  side  by  side,  with  the  foremost  of  the 
company  ten  feet  behind.  Here,  once  more,  Amraphel 
turned  to  them,  raising  his  right  hand  majestically 
as  he  spoke:  "Wait  here  for  her  whom  I  shall  drive 


FROM   THE    HOUSE    OF    HEAVEN    301 

unto  you;  but  see  that,  on  penalty  of  the  wrath  of 
the  gods/ ye  ascend  not  to  the  shrine." 

Then,  hearing  the  low  murmur  that  told  the  acqui 
escence  of  the  obedient  flock,  Amraphel  and  his  shadow 
began  their  ascent.  From  below,  the  people  watched 
them  in  growing  wonder,  in  growing  uneasiness. 
They  had  seen  the  ox-goad  in  the  high-priest's  hand, 
and  they  were  thrilled  with  strange  terrors  as  they 
considered  what  its  use  might  be.  Istar — their  Istar — 
Istar,  the  great  goddess — flogged !  Impossible !  Yet — 
yet — the  curiosity  was  upon  them,  and  they  waited  to 
see. 

And  now  the  two  priests  stood  at  the  door-way  of 
the  shrine.  The  leathern  curtain  was  closed  before 
them.  Nothing  could  be  seen.  There  was  a  little 
pause,  and,  for  the  shadow  of  an  instant,  Amraphel 
wavered.  Vul  -  Raman,  closely  watching  him,  felt  his 
heart  sink. 

"Shall  I  lift  the  curtain?"  he  whispered,  devoutly 
hoping  for  a  negative  reply. 

But  Amraphel  had  gone  too  far  now  to  falter.  He 
nodded. 

The  heart  of  the  priest  of  Nebo  gave  a  throb  of  fear. 
He  made  no  move  to  obey  the  command.  Amraphel 
glanced  at  him  sharply,  took  one  step  forward,  and 
dragged  the  curtain  from  the  door. 

There  was  a  low,  frightened  cry,  supplemented  by 
a  weak  wail  from  a  faint  and  tender  voice.  The  high- 
priest  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand  till  he  could  see 
into  the  interior  of  the  room;  and  then,  indeed,  his 
heart  beat  high. 

In  that  room,  sitting  now  upon  the  great  golden 
chair,  was  Istar  of  Babylon.  She  was  clothed  in  the 
long,  white,  woollen  tunic,  that  was  scarcely  so  pale 
as  her  face.  She  was  unveiled,  and  her  silken  hair, 
unbound  and  tangled,  fell  over  her  whole  form  and 
down  to  the  floor  on  either  side.  Upon  her  knees, 
wrapped  in  a  square  of  sacrificial  muslin,  its  little 


302  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

form  bathed  in  a  dim,  effulgent  light  that  radiated 
from  its  body,  lay  the  babe — her  child. 

Upon  the  entrance  of  the  two  priests,  after  the  one 
startled  cry,  Istar  sat  perfectly  quiet,  her  drawn  face 
no  whiter  than  before,  her  great,  dark  eyes  staring 
wonderingly  at  the  intruders,  her  breath  coming  and 
going  rapidly  between  her  parted  lips. 

Amraphel,  whose  self  -  composure  had  returned  to 
him  doubled  in  strength  now  that  he  was  sure  of  his 
position,  stood  surveying  her  leisurely,  with  undis 
guised  triumph.  Vul-Raman,  on  the  other  side,  had 
also  lost  his  fear.  His  delight  at  the  turn  of  affairs 
was  hardly  less  than  his  amazement;  for,  since  the 
morning  at  Erech,  Istar  had  had,  in  all  Babylonia,  no 
firmer  believer  in  her  divinity  than  Vul-Raman  of  Bit- 
Yakin.  Yet  now,  human,  mortal,  weak,  she  certainly 
was.  Fitting,  indeed,  was  it  that  she  should  leave  the 
temple  of  the  great  goddess.  And  as  he  thought  upon 
the  manner  of  her  expulsion,  his  lips  curled  in  an  in 
voluntary  smile. 

At  that  moment  I  star's  eyes  were  resting  on  his  face. 
She  saw  his  expression,  and  she  read  all  the  cruelty 
of  it ;  for  suddenly,  raising  the  infant  in  her  arms,  she 
rose  to  her  feet. 

"Why  have  you  come  hither?"  she  whispered, 
hoarsely,  her  eyes  moving  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Thou  deceiver!  Thou  blasphemer!  Thou  thing 
of  evil,  of  unholiness!  We  are  come  in  the  name  of 
her  whose  abode  thou  hast  so  long  profaned,  to  drive 
thee  forth  from  E-Ana  to  thy  true  dwelling — the  tem 
ple  of  the  false  Istar!" 

Istar's  nostrils  quivered  with  scorn.  She  lifted  her 
head  in  a  final  proud  defiance  of  the  words  of  the  high- 
priest.  At  the  same  instant  Amraphel's  left  hand  was 
raised.  The  goad  whirred  through  the  air,  and  the 
thongs  came  stinging  across  the  face  of  the  woman. 

A  sharp  scream,  that  could  be  heard  by  the  multi 
tude  below,  rang  out  from  the  shrine  on  the  ziggurat. 


FROM   THE    HOUSE    OF    HEAVEN    303 

The  woman  caught  her  baby  close  to  her  breast,  shield 
ing  it  as  well  as  she  could  with  both  arms.  The  cut 
of  the  whip  had  left  a  bright  crimson  weal  across  both 
cheeks  and  just  over  her  mouth.  The  goad  was  lifted 
over  her  again,  and  this  time  she  shrank  backward 
from  it. 

"Get  you  forth,  false  creature,  from  the  heavenly 
house!"  cried  Vul-Raman,  in  raucous  tones. 

Amraphel  moved  out  of  her  path,  and  Istar,  blind 
and  dumb  with  terror  and  amazement,  started  towards 
the  door.  As  she  went  the  whip  fell  again,  this  time 
on  her  shoulders,  and  again  the  scream  followed  it. 
Hugging  the  babe  yet  closer  to  her  breast,  she  ran  out 
upon  the  ziggurat  platform  in  the  blaze  of  the  sun 
light,  and,  with  Amraphel  and  Vul-Raman  close  at 
her  heels,  began  an  ever-hastening  descent,  round  and 
round  the  tower,  towards  the  square  below.  Up  to 
her  ears,  from  that  square,  came  a  long-drawn,  minor 
groan.  The  people  below  were  waiting  for  her,  wait 
ing  for  her  as  vultures  wait.  Behind  her,  driving  her 
on  to  them,  were  their  priests.  She  herself,  helpless, 
bewildered,  numb  with  the  pain  of  exertion,  beside  her 
self  with  a  desperate,  fierce  sense  of  mother-protection, 
knew  scarcely  what  she  did,  was  unmindful  of  what 
must  come  to  her. 

Since  the  priests  had  left  them,  the  numbers  of  the 
crowd  were  considerably  swelled.  Istar's  temple -ser 
vants,  eunuchs  and  women  both,  had  come  pouring 
from  the  temple  and  the  dwelling  to  witness  the  issue 
of  this  undreamed-of  struggle.  Also  every  one  that 
entered  the  square  of  Istar,  whether  on  foot  or  in 
chariot,  had  either  been  directly  summoned  by  the  mob 
or  had  joined  it  voluntarily  from  curiosity.  These  peo 
ple,  by  now  two  hundred  strong,  were  awaiting  the 
development  of  the  affair  in  an  undecisive  humor. 
More  of  them  believed  in  the  divinity  of  Istar  than  in 
the  word  of  Amraphel,  powerful  as  he  was.  But  now, 
suddenly,  there  was  to  be  seen,  circling  towards  them 


304  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

from  above,  a  woman's  figure,  utterly  dishevelled, 
with  long  hair  flying  about  her  and  straight  woollen 
tunic  impeding  her  progress,  clasping  in  both  arms  a 
tiny  bundle,  and  fleeing,  in  very  evident  terror,  from 
those  that  followed  her,  one  of  whom  held  the  goad 
uplifted  in  his  hand.  And  as  her  weakness,  her  mor 
tality,  her  too  evident  confusion,  became  apparent, 
the  people  felt  all  the  old,  inherent  savagery  of  their 
race  rise  over  the  lately  acquired  civilization,  and  they 
watched  with  delight  the  approach  of  their  helpless 
prey. 

Istar,  as  she  came  nearer  the  ground,  could  see  the 
crowd  there  close  up  its  ranks  and  draw  nearer  the  foot 
of  the  tower.  She  realized  its  attitude  instantly,  and 
her  heart  palpitated  fast  with  excitement.  Go  back 
she  could  not.  Keep  on  she  must.  And  soon  she 
reached  the  last  few  feet  of  the  inclined  plane,  and  felt 
the  very  breath,  hot  and  hostile,  of  her  one-time  wor 
shippers  rise  about  her.  She  stopped,  faltering.  Her 
shoulders  quivered  in  expectation  of  a  blow;  for  Am- 
raphel  was  close  upon  her.  The  blow  was  struck — 
fiercely — and  it  cut  through  her  garment  like  a  knife, 
blackening  the  white  skin  beneath  it.  At  the  same 
time  Amraphers  voice  thundered  out  to  all  the  crowd : 

"  I  bring  ye  the  false  witch  out  of  the  holy  temple  of 
Istar.  Do  with  her  as  ye  think  fitting  and  meet,  in 
reverence  to  the  outraged  goddess." 

There  was  a  deep,  universal  cry,  a  cry  of  hatred, 
of  triumph,  of  the  purest  brutality,  from  the  throng. 
Istar,  looking  down  upon  the  massed  faces  before 
her,  reeled  slightly.  Then,  for  her  child's  sake,  with 
a  mighty  effort  she  straightened  up  again.  Know 
ing  not  what  else  to  do,  she  stepped  forward  to  the 
crowd.  A  great  hand  was  quickly  thrust  into  her 
face.  Another  struck  her  on  the  shoulder — but  not 
so  cruelly  as  the  whip  could  strike.  A  dozen  men 
seized  her  about  the  body.  Then  she  lost  every  feeling 
save  only  one,  that  was  more  an  instinct  than  a  defi- 


FROM   THE    HOUSE    OF    HEAVEN    305 

nite  idea.  She  must  protect  her  child.  She  must  save 
it,  while  she  lived,  from  the  hands  of  her  assailants. 
She  was  in  the  very  midst  of  the  mob.  Heads,  arms, 
hands,  all  struggled  around  and  towards  her,  strik 
ing,  bumping,  pushing  her.  Her  hair  and  her  tunic 
were  torn.  No  one  as  yet  had  threatened  her  with  a 
weapon;  but  this,  she  felt,  was  only  a  matter  of  time; 
and  then  vaguely  she  commended  herself  to  the  God 
whose  will  had  been  hers  also. 

All  at  once,  however,  she  felt  more  room  around 
her.  She  was  in  the  middle  of  a  small,  empty  space, 
about  which  her  own  eunuchs  stood  in  a  circle,  their 
backs  to  her,  fighting  with  the  men  of  the  mob  that 
sought  to  reach  her.  With  a  gleam  of  hope,  she  saw 
that  all  were  not  hostile.  Her  head  swam  and  the 
wrorld  grew  misty  around  her,  yet  still  she  clung  to 
her  shred  of  consciousness,  that  she  might  keep  the 
baby  safe.  And,  while  she  still  controlled  herself, 
some  one  appeared  out  of  the  tangle  of  struggling 
forms.  Some  one  came  close  to  her  side,  saying  to 
her,  in  a  once  familiar  voice : 

"  Belit  Istar,  keep  to  my  side,  and  I  will  make  a  way 
for  you  through  these  men." 

Istar  turned  her  half-blinded  eyes  upon  the  defender, 
and  smiled  at  him — the  golden-haired,  the  silver- voiced, 
whom  long  ago  she  had  sheltered  in  her  shrine. 

"I  will  keep  to  thy  side — Char-mides.  Or — 1  die 
here.  Yet  I  fear  not  death.  Life — only — is — terri 
ble,"  she  muttered,  faintly. 

The  Greek  did  not  answer  her.  Seeing  an  opening 
in  the  throng,  he  threw  one  arm  around  her,  and,  hold 
ing  his  right  hand  out  in  front  of  them  both,  hurried 
quickly  forward.  Istar  never  remembered  how  it  hap 
pened.  She  saw  her  eunuchs  all  around  her.  She 
knew  little  of  the  angry  people  beyond.  Presently  she 
and  her  rescuer  stood  together  beyond  the  mob  on  the 
edge  of  the  platform  steps. 

"Thy  eunuchs,  I  think,  will  keep  the  crowd  from 


306  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

pursuit.  They  have  been  bravely  true  to  thee.  Now, 
canst  reach  my  dwelling,  lady?  The  way  is  far." 

"To  thy  dwelling  I  cannot  go.  May  the  Almighty 
God  make  thee  forever  happy!  Leave  me  now.  I 
follow  my  path  alone." 

Charmides  regarded  her  as  slightly  crazy.  As  she 
started  quickly  forward  he  kept  close  at  her  side. 
"Come  with  me — a  little  to  the  right,"  he  suggested, 
gently. 

She  shook  her  head.  "Nay,  Charmides,  I  know 
the  way.  It  is  to  the  house  of  my  lord  that  I  go. 
Haste!  Haste!  They  follow  me!" 

She  started  forward  as  she  spoke,  running  in  terror 
down  the  steps  into  the  square,  and  turning  unhesitat 
ingly  into  the  A-Ibur-Sabu.  Charmides  kept  to  her 
and  supported  her  as  she  went,  knowing  not  what  else 
to  do,  not  daring  to  take  the  child,  to  which  she  clung 
with  such  a  mother-clasp  that  none  could  have  pre 
sumed  to  ask  her  to  relinquish  it.  And  in  this  wise 
they  proceeded  together  up  the  great  road,  finally 
turning  into  the  street  of  Palaces  leading  towards  the 
river.  As  they  passed,  no  man  or  woman  failed  to 
turn  and  stare  at  the  couple,  for  surely  such  a  sight 
as  this  had  never  before  been  seen  in  Babylon.  How 
long  the  walk  lasted,  minutes,  hours,  or  days,  or  how 
it  was  that  Istar  kept  from  losing  consciousness  after 
the  terrible  hour  she  had  been  through,  Charmides 
never  knew.  Some  of  the  agony,  mental  and  physical, 
that  the  woman  was  enduring  he  could  read  in  her 
face.  The  greater  part  of  it  no  mortal  could  have 
known  or  borne,  for  it  was  the  death  of  her  immortal 
existence  and  the  beginning  of  her  real  earth -life, 
her  life  as  a  human  being,  a  woman  without  power, 
without  strength,  without  knowledge  of  what  was  to 
come. 

Noon  glared  over  the  city  as  the  two  of  them  reached 
the  border  of  the  hunting-park  that  surrounded  Nabu- 
Nahid's  palace.  A  little  farther  along  was  the  palace 


FROM    THE    HOUSE    OF    HEAVEN    307 

gate-way,  with  its  group  of  guards  in  their  magnificent 
liveries.  Charmides  looked  at  them  in  despair,  for 
surely  the  poor  woman  at  his  side  would  meet  with  no 
courtesy  here.  Such  fears  did  not  trouble  Istar.  Ad 
vancing  to  the  first  soldier,  she  said  at  once: 

"Admit  me,  now,  to" — she  faltered  over  the  name 
— "to  my  Lord  Belshazzar." 

For  a  moment  the  man  stared  into  her  haggard 
and  colorless  face,  crossed  with  the  red  weal  of  the 
whip,  looked  into  the  wild  eyes,  saw  the  burden  that 
she  bore,  and  laughed. 

Istar  heard  him,  saw  him,  was  still  and  silent  for  a 
moment,  and  then  turned  dully  to  Charmides.  The 
Greek's  eyes  brimmed  with  tears — tears  of  rage  at  his 
helplessness  and  unutterable  pity  for  Istar. 

"  Belit,  come  away  with  me.  I  will  keep  you  till  my 
lord  receives  you  here,"  he  wrhispered  to  her, imploringly. 

Istar  shook  her  head  and  turned  hurriedly  to  the 
second  man.  "  I  will  be  taken  to  my  Lord  Belshazzar ! 
Admit  me  to  him!"  she  cried,  querulously. 

"There  is  he,  then,  if  you  would  speak  to  him," 
was  the  jeering  answer,  as  the  man,  with  a  grin,  .swept 
his  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  first  court,  just  in 
side  the  gate. 

Istar  darted  forward  to  look. 

"Thou  fool!  Now  she  will  scream!"  said  the  first 
soldier  to  his  comrade. 

Truly  enough,  Belshazzar  was  in  the  court,  walking 
slowly  towards  the  gate  of  his  wing  of  the  palace. 
Istar 's  eyes  fell  on  him  instantly.  She  smiled  a  little. 
Then — she  called: 

"Belshazzar!     Belshazzar — my  lord!" 

At  the  first  syllable  Belshazzar  stopped,  lifted  his 
bowed  head,  and  listened.  At  the  repetition  of  the 
cry  he  turned  towards  the  gate  and  came  running — 
running  as  never  before,  towards  it.  The  guards, 
watching  him  in  something  like  consternation,  opened 
the  gate  at  his  approach. 


308  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"Istar!  Istar!  Thou — here!"  came  in  a  great  cry 
of  love,  of  anger,  of  ineffable  pity,  from  the  lips  of  the 
prince  royal. 

Istar  tremulously  smiled,  and  held  out  her  infant 
to  her  husband.  "I — have — come/'  she  whispered, 
vaguely.  Then,  as  Belshazzar  took  the  child  from 
her,  she  gave  a  gasping  sob,  and  fell  forward  upon 
the  hot  bricks  at  his  feet. 


XII 

£GIBI  &  SONS 

BY  noon  that  day  Babylon  was  ringing  with  the  story 
of  Istar's  fall  and  her  miraculous  escape  from 
the  hands  of  the  mob  of  priests  and  the  people.  The 
tale,  from  the  first  appearance  A  of  Amraphel  and  Vul- 
Raman  in  their  chariot  on  the  A-Ibur-Sabu  at  so  early 
an  hour,  down  to  the  arrival  of  Charmides  and  Istar 
at  the  edge  of  the  royal  park  on  the  street  of  Palaces, 
was  in  the  mouth  of  every  man.  But,  strangely 
enough,  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  it  all,  Beltishazzar 
the  Jew  and  Belshazzar  the  prince,  were  never  once 
mentioned  by  any  one.  Amraphel  in  the  temple  and 
Daniel  in  the  street  listened,  each  with  his  own  ears, 
in  his  own  way,  to  learn  how  much  was  known;  and 
possibly  both  were  relieved  that  the  beginning  was 
unguessed;  but  certainly  both  were  annoyed  to  find 
that  they  could  learn  no  more  of  the  close  of  the  drama 
than  any  one.  Istar  had  simply  disappeared.  Her 
Greek  guide  was  known,  had  even  been  seen  in  the 
afternoon  walking  from  the  temple  of  Sin  towards  the 
canal  of  the  New  Year.  But  no  move  was  made 
towards  his  apprehension,  for  he  was  highly  valued 
by  the  priesthood  of  his  temple,  and  no  amount  of 
questioning  on  the  part  of  any  one  drew  from  him  a 
single  satisfactory  reply  as  to  the  final  disposal  of 
Istar  and  her  child. 

Nevertheless,  Charmides'  mind  and  heart  were  full. 
Not  until  the  afternoon  had  he  an  opportunity,  or, 
indeed,  the  wish,  to  review  the  great  event  in  which 


310  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

he  had  played  so  important  a  part  that  morning.  All 
the  circumstances  had  been  shoved  into  the  background 
and  forced  to  lie  still  in  his  subconsciousness  through 
out  the  morning,  while  he  performed  his  regular  duties 
at  the  temple.  And  only  now  was  he  free  to  let  them 
come  once  more  to  the  surface  and  quietly  consider 
them  in  his  homeward  walk.  First,  there  was  the 
errand  that  had  taken  him  to  the  temple  of  Istar  at 
that  hour  of  the  morning  —  a  message  concerning 
two  oracles  that  must  be  identical,  to  be  delivered  at 
the  same  hour  at  two  temples.  Charmides  had  been 
more  likely  than  any  of  the  priests  to  win  Istar 's 
consent  to  the  arrangement  and  to  the  deceit  that 
it  involved.  And  it  was  thus  that  he  arrived  at  the 
temple  of  the  goddess  at  the  hour  of  the  close  of 
sacrifice,  to  find  an  unusual  and  excited  throng  as 
sembled  round  the  foot  of  the  ziggurat,  upon  which, 
Charmides  learned,  Istar  had  slept  on  the  previous 
night.  Entirely  ignorant  of  the  portent  of  this  mob. 
the  Greek  had  joined  them — hearing  only  that  Istar 
was  still  above.  From  there,  in  such  wise,  he  watched 
her  expulsion  from  the  sanctuary;  saw  her  struck  by 
the  whip  of  the  high-priest;  perceived  the  burden  that 
she  bore;  and,  finally,  knew  that  she  was  swallowed 
up  in  the  mob  that  had  been  threatening  her  life.  Then, 
at  last,  a  furious  desire  for  action  came  over  the  Greek. 
He  looked  around  eagerly.  On  his  right  hand  stood 
a  company  of  men  that  were  taking  no  part  in  the 
turmoil,  regarding  it  rather  with  an  expression  of  anx 
iety  in  their  faces.  These  were  the  eunuchs  of  Istar's 
household,  wearing  her  livery:  servitors  that  had  been 
willing  slaves.  Charmides  saw  that  in  them  lay  his 
goddess'  only  chance.  He  rallied  them  and  brought 
them  together  by  means  of  a  few  sharp  words  of  en 
couragement  and  explanation;  and  with  them  close- 
pressed  around  him,  he  made  an  onslaught  on  the 
disordered  throng. 

It  was  thus  that  Istar's  rescue  had  been  effected. 


EGIBI    &    SONS 

There  was  little  in  it  that  was  remarkable;  but  Istar's 
endurance  in  the  long  walk  that  followed  was  certainly 
little  less  than  miraculous.  It  was,  however,  the  scene 
at  the  end  of  this  walk  that  had  affected  Charmides  most 
powerfully.  In  Belshazzar's  reception  of  her,  Charmides 
had  not  failed  to  read  something  of  the  history  that  had 
made  that  reception  possible.  Love  for  her,  this  wonder 
fully  fallen  woman,  helpless,  weary,  and  persecuted  as 
she  was,  the  prince  unquestionably  bore.  She  had  come 
to  him  in  her  hour  of  sorest  need,  and  he  had  not  failed 
her.  Could  she  then,  always,  in  her  former  glory, 
have  rejected  him?  It  seemed  impossible.  And  at 
this  thought  Charmides  grew  troubled.  He  could  not 
bear  that  Istar  should  be  tainted  by  contact  with  any 
mortal.  Yet  now,  alas!  he  knew  that  she  must  be 
so  tainted.  With  this  thought  the  world  grew  human 
again,  and  Charmides  turned  his  mind  to  Ramua,  his 
wife,  her  who  had  first  made  Babylon  beautiful  to  him. 
In  another  two  or  three  minutes  now  he  would  be  with 
her,  for  he  had  nearly  finished  his  homeward  walk. 
Directly  opposite  him  were  the  palace  and  gardens  of 
Lord  Ribata,  behind  whose  walls  dwelt  Baba,  that  other 
being  whose  life  had  for  a  moment  touched  his,  and 
had  then  flown  off  again  at  a  tangent  that  could  not 
but  separate  them  more  and  more  as  time  went  on. 
For  Baba,  Charmides  felt  a  lurking  tenderness,  that 
had  developed  since  he  won  his  happiness  through 
her;  and  as  he  rounded  the  corner  of  the  tenement  of 
Ut  and  hastened  his  pace  towards  his  own  door-way, 
he  was  not  sorry  to  find  three  women  watching  for 
him  in  that  space — Ramua,  Beltani,  and,  lastly,  Baba 
herself. 

It  was  evident  that  news  of  the  great  happening 
of  the  morning  had  already  reached  this  remote  cor 
ner  of  the  city;  for  the  instant  that  he  was  within 
speaking  distance  of  his  family,  the  Greek  was  assailed 
with  such  a  volley  of  questions  as  only  women  could 
have  marshalled  under  a  single  breath.  It  must  be 


312  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

confessed  that  Charmides  heard  them  with  something 
like  despair.  Yet  he  knew  also  that  he  would  do  best 
to  submit  to  the  inevitable  without  protest.  There 
fore,  seating  himself  upon  a  new  stool  in  the  living- 
room,  he  proceeded  to  utilize  the  moments  unoccupied 
by  women's  voices  in  explaining  as  lucidly  as  possi 
ble  the  morning's  adventure.  Baba  alone  was  silent 
during  his  recital.  She  stood  perfectly  still,  her  hands 
folded  in  front  of  her,  her  large  eyes  fixed  solemnly 
on  his  face,  listening,  with  an  eagerness  that  he  could 
not  but  perceive,  to  his  every  syllable.  Immediately 
upon  the  end  she  turned,  with  a  rustle  of  silk  and  a 
jingle  of  golden  chains,  towards  the  door.  Then,  beck 
oning  Charmides  to  come  with  her,  she  led  him  along 
for  a  few  yards,  and,  fixing  her  gaze  upon  him,  said, 
seriously : 

"  Charmides,  you  must  know  that  you  have  incurred 
danger  by  this  act.  The  eyes  of  all  the  priesthood, 
of  Amraphel,  of  Vul-Raman,  of  Beltishazzar  the  Jew, 
will  from  this  time  forth  be  upon  you.  Take  care  that, 
though  you  have  won  the  love  of  every  woman  in  Baby 
lon  by  your  act,  you  do  not  also  receive  some  mortal 
injury  from  these  others.  I  warn  you  as  one  that 
loves  you.  Remember  it." 

And  with  these  words,  and  a  nod  to  her  sister  be 
hind,  Baba  let  Charmides  go,  and  went  on  alone  tow 
ards  her  pleasant  prison-house. 

There  was  no  reluctance  in  Baba's  gait  as  she  ap 
proached  the  palace  of  Ribata;  for  the  unhappiness 
of  the  first  months  of  her  new  life  was  gone.  In  its 
place  had  come  a  contentment  that  was  as  near  akin 
to  happiness  as  anything  she  had  ever  known.  By 
her  own  tact  and  wisdom  she  had  made  for  herself  an 
enviable  place  in  Lord  Ribata 's  household.  Every 
one  in  it,  from  the  first  wife  to  the  newest  dancing- 
girl  and  the  humblest  slave,  liked  her.  She  had  never 
been  known  to  do  one  of  them  an  unkindness;  and 
none  of  them  had  ever  borne  a  complaint  of  her  to 


EGIBI    &    SONS  313 

their  lord.  For  this,  if  for  nothing  else,  Bit-Shumu- 
kin  would  have  regarded  her  as  a  paragon.  But  my 
lord  had  other  cause  for  keeping  a  close  companion 
ship  with  her  after  her  novelty  had  worn  off.  Baba 
was  no  fool;  and,  young  as  she  was,  began,  under 
Ribata 's  experimental  tuition,  to  develop  no  mean 
abilities  in  the  way  of  politics  and  political  diplomacy. 
She  had  begun  by  having  explained  to  her  the  unim 
portant  things — dark  secrets  known  to  everybody  in 
the  state  world,  and  to  anybody  else  that  cared  to  go 
into  them.  Finding  from  these  that  she  possessed 
that  unheard-of  thing  in  woman,  a  bridled  tongue, 
Ribata  trusted  her  further,  began  to  make  some  little 
use  of  her  in  a  statesman's  way,  and  found  that  she 
had  unusual  talent  in  that  unusual  line.  Finally, 
she  had  ended  by  becoming  an  unfailing  necessity  to 
him  in  his  broad  outer  life.  Baba  went  to  houses, 
knew  people,  heard  things  repeated,  received  con 
fidences  that  no  other  woman  in  Babylon  dreamed 
of.  In  many  cases  she  was  able  to  save  her  lord's 
dignity  in  a  pleasant  way.  She  formed  friendships 
with  certain  people  whom  he  suggested  to  her,  and 
obtained  from  them  a  world  of  amusement  for  herself, 
and  an  unfathomable  fund  of  information  for  her 
master.  She  found  Babylon  to  be  a  seething  mass 
of  plots  and  counterplots,  little  and  great,  honorable, 
ignoble,  loyal  and  traitorous.  The  government  was 
fighting  its  enemies  with  their  own  weapons,  and 
intrigued  vigorously,  sometimes  in  the  light  of  knowl 
edge,  far  more  often  in  hopeless  darkness.  Ribata,  as 
Belshazzar's  closest  friend,  dwelt  in  the  very  midst  of 
this  world  of  craft,  and  how  valuable  to  him  and  to  his 
prince  so  versatile  and  so  truthful  an  agent  as  Baba 
was,  none  but  Ribata  himself  knew.  But  it  was  in 
this  way  that  life  had  grown  interesting  again  to  the 
little  creature ;  and  it  was  in  this  way  that  she  gained 
a  satisfaction  in  her  existence,  knowing  that  she  was 
worthy,  that  she  was  serving  a  great  cause  well.  In- 


314  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

deed,  from  her  heart,  in  the  light  of  all  her  knowledge, 
Baba  was  body  and  soul  loyal  to  the  king  and  to  the 
prince-governor  of  the  city.  Autocratic  as  they  were 
and  wished  to  be,  it  took  little  understanding  to  per 
ceive  how  infinitely  more  selfish,  how  infinitely  more 
tyrannical  would  be  the  other  side,  that  great  opposing 
element  of  which  Amraphel  was  the  recognized  head, 
and  Daniel  the  Jew  the  unrecognized  but  not  less  im 
portant  right  hand. 

Knowing  this  religious  body  as  she  did,  Baba's 
warning  to  Charmides  had  been  no  idle  one;  and  on 
her  way  home  she  was  occupied  in  reviewing  the  po 
sition  of  the  man  whom  she  revered  as  wrell  as  loved. 
It  caused  her  no  little  anxiety,  this  plight  of  his;  for, 
though  no  definite  result  of  his  generous  action  could 
be  foretold,  that  there  would  be  some  result  the  little 
diplomatist  was  very  sure.  It  was  her  intention,  on 
reaching  the  palace,  to  demand  audience  of  Ribata  at 
once.  But  when  she  came  to  the  outer  gate  of  the 
zenana  she  found  a  eunuch  watching  for  her  coming, 
and  he  hurried  forward  to  her  with  the  command  that 
she  repair  instantly  to  the  presence  of  her  lord. 

Ribata  was  alone  at  table  when  Baba  came  to  him. 
He  greeted  her  arrival  with  extreme  satisfaction,  and, 
before  dismissing  the  slaves,  had  a  place  made  for  her 
beside  him,  and  food  and  wine  brought  for  her  refresh 
ment.  Baba  watched  the  arrangements  placidly.  She 
was  accustomed  to  such  consideration,  though  no  other 
woman  of  Ribata 's  household  had  ever  been  treated  in 
this  way.  And  when  the  two  of  them  were  finally  left 
alone,  she  began  quietly  to  eat,  asking  no  questions, 
forbearing  to  introduce  the  topic  near  her  own  heart, 
waiting,  without  the  least  appearance  of  curiosity,  for 
Ribata  to  begin  the  conversation. 

On  the  instant  of  their  being  left  alone,  Ribata 's 
face  lost  its  expression  of  cheerful  nonchalance  and 
took  on  the  look  of  one  that  labors  wearily  in  a  hope 
less  cause.  He  ceased  to  eat  and  drink,  and  lay  back 


£GIBI  &  SONS  315 

on  his  couch  with  a  deep  sigh.  It  was  many  minutes 
before  he  spoke,  and  during  that  time  Baba  played 
steadily  at  eating,  never  once  noticing  his  languor 
or  commenting  on  his  mood;  for  she  knew  her  lord, 
and  she  took  the  only  possible  method  of  pleasing 
him. 

"Baba,"  he  said  at  last,  "we  have  lost  what  should 
be  reckoned  as  an  army  this  day." 

Baba  slowly  lifted  her  eyes  to  his.  "Istar?"  she 
said,  quietly. 

Ribata  nodded.  There  was  a  little  pause,  and  then 
he  asked  again:  "You  know,  do  you  not,  the  man 
that  saved  her  from  the  mob?" 

"Why — thou  knowest,  my  lord,  he  is — " 

"Charmides,  thy  Greek.     Say  it,  Baba." 

"He  is  the  husband  of  my  sister." 

"But  once  beloved  of  thee?" 

Baba  looked  at  him. 

"Warn  thy  Greek,  then,  that  Amraphel  and  the 
Jew  will  not  again  let  any  act  of  his  pass  unnoticed. 
His  life  is  endangered,  I  think." 

Still  Baba  was  silent.  At  Ribata 's  words  she  merely 
bowed  her  head. 

"  And  now,  my  Baba,  now  hear  the  rest  of  the  day's 
happenings.  The  Great  City  is  coming  into  the  even 
ing  of  her  day.  That  thing  that  was  Nabu-Nahid's 
greatest  safeguard,  because  it  alone  was  feared  by  the 
priesthood,  is  taken  from  us.  In  the  days  when  Istar 
of  Babylon  shone  like  Shamash  in  her  temple,  Am 
raphel  himself  laid  his  face  in  the  dust  before  her.  But 
now,  for  many  months,  yea,  since  that  journey  to  Erech, 
her  glory  has  departed  from  her.  I  have  looked  on  her 
long  and  despairingly  of  late  weeks.  This  is  the  end 
that  from  the  first  I  have  feared  She  is  become  no 
more  than  any  woman ;  and  with  her  going  our  power 
fails.  Yet,  Baba,  this  Istar  is  wonderfully  beloved. 
This  day,  in  the  palace  of  the  king,  she  was  united 
in  marriage  with  Belshazzar  by  word  of  the  priest  of 


316  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Sin,  who  thereby,  to  all  Babylonia,  proclaimed  her  a 
woman." 

"Wife  of  Belshazzar!"  gasped  Baba. 

"Yes,  verily.  And  I  have  not  marvelled  less  than 
thou.  Yet  Belshazzar  loves  her  with  a  love  that  is 
beyond  approach:  holding  her  dearer  than  half  the 
kingdom — nay,  then,  than  the  whole,  I  think.  I  spake 
out  before  him  of  the  danger  of  her  fall  to  our  cause, 
and  his  answer  frightened  me ;  and  after  that,  through 
the  whole  day,  he  spoke  to  me  no  more. 

"  But  by  the  blood  of  my  father  that  flows  in  my  veins, 
neither  for  Istar  nor  for  any  other  shall  Belshazzar 
lose  his  kingdom  to  Amraphel,  Beltishazzar,  and 
Kurush  the  Elamite,  till  my  spirit  is  fled  to  Ninkigal, 
and  my  blood  waters  the  streets  of  the  city.  And  till 
the  time  when  the  madness  of  the  prince  my  brother 
shall  be  ended,  I  alone  will  uphold  the  state  against 
her  enemies." 

He  came  to  an  abrupt  and  thoughtful  pause,  which 
Baba  softly  filled. 

"My  lord  knows  that  his  will  is  also  mine." 

Ribata  drew  a  quick  sigh  and  then  smiled  at  her 
words.  Afterwards  he  rose  from  his  couch  and  seated 
himself  on  the  great  pile  of  rugs  and  cushions  in  a 
corner,  at  the  same  time  motioning  Baba  to  join  him. 
She  went,  obediently,  and  seated  herself  at  his  feet, 
her  eyes  resting  inquiringly  on  his  face,  her  chin  on 
her  hands.  Before  he  began  to  speak,  he  placed  one 
hand  caressingly  on  her  hair,  much  as  one  would 
have  patted  the  head  of  a  little  child,  for,  in  spite  of 
her  precocious  discretion  and  level-headedness,  Baba 
always  impressed  one  first  with  her  childlike  per 
sonality. 

"  Now,  Baba,  there  is  something  for  thee  to  do,  where 
by  we  may  gain  much  for  our  king.  Thou  knpwest 
the  woman  Bunanitu,  and  the  great  house  of  Egibi, 
of  which  she  is  mistress?" 

Baba  smiled.     "  Hast  thou  not  many  times  bidden 


EGIBI    &   SONS  317 

me  go  to  her?  And  hath  she  not  come  here  to  visit 
me?  Ugh!  My  lord  knows  that  I  do  not  love  her 
and  her  race." 

Ribata  smiled.  "My  Baba,  the  king's  treasury 
has  never  in  A  its  richest  time  held  half  the  wealth  of 
the  house  of  Egibi.  With  them  is  that  power  of  gold 
without  which  Amraphel  himself  would  soon  be  help 
less.  There,  Baba,  in  that  house  of  Jews,  is  where 
more  than  half  the  secret  meetings  of  the  traitors  are 
held.  It  is  from  there,  and  from  the  house  of  Zicaru, 
near  the  temple  of  Marduk,  that  Babylon  may  look 
for  its  doom  to  come  forth.  Listen,  then,  to  me.  If 
any  meeting  ever  hath  been  held  by  our  enemies — 
and,  by  thy  goat,  there  have  been  a  hundred  of  them! 
— there  will  be  one  to-morrow,  either  in  the  monastery 
or  in  this  house  of  Egibi :  and  I  think  'twill  be  in  the 
last.  Their  best  time  is  noon,  after  sacrifice  and  before 
mercy,  when  business  ceases  and  the  city  dines.  Now, 
there  will  be  a  eunuch  temple  servant  that  is  in  my 
pay  in  the  house  of  Zicaru,  waiting,  at  the  same  hour 
that  I  would  have  you  go  to  the  house  of  Egibi.  You 
must  enter  it,  Baba,  as  a  female  visitor  to  Bunanitu, 
veiled  and  on  foot,  carrying  embroidery,  or  a  lute,  or 
something  that  womankind  fancies,  creating  no  sus 
picion  that  you  come  from  me  or  my  house.  Only 
greet  Bunanitu,  and  tell  her  you  are  come  to  pay  a 
visit  and  to  gossip  with  her  for  an  hour.  Then,  being 
in  that  house,  keep  thou  watch.  Tell  me  the  men  that 
are  to  be  seen  about  the  place,  or,  if  there  is  none 
to  see,  look  for  any  chance  event  that  may  befall  to 
give  a  clew  to  the  traitors'  workings.  If  you  be  shut 
away  from  the  men's  rooms,  cry  out  for  faintness  or 
with  heat,  and  so  run  out  into  the  shop  where  moneys 
are  changed.  Or  make  you  any  excuse  to  look  and 
learn — I  care  not  what  it  may  be,  or  what  you  do. 
But,  my  Baba,  for  every  fact  you  bring  me,  there  shall 
be  a  golden  hairpin  for  your  hair  on  your  return." 

Baba  looked  up  at  him  quickly.     "  My  lord  will  learn 


318  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

in  time  that  I  love  not  gold.  I  do  my  lord's  bidding 
for  love  of  his  work.  Let  him  not  pay  me  like  a 
servant." 

Ribata  smiled  and  took  up  her  two  hands.  "  Baba  is 
good,  and  also  wise.  Let  her  bear  always  in  mind  that 
the  Achaemenian  threatens  the  Great  City ;  and  that 
before  him,  if  there  works  treachery  inside  the  walls, 
I  and  thou,  Belshazzar  and  the  king,  Istar  of  Babylon 
and  thy  pale-eyed  Greek,  must  surely  fall.  I  shall 
not  see  thee  again  ere  thou  go;  but  the  household  is 
at  thy  command,  to  do  with  as  thou  wilt  in  preparation 
for  thy  adventure." 

Then  Ribata  tapped  her  forehead  in  token  of  dis 
missal,  and  watched  her  as  she  jumped  to  her  feet, 
made  her  reverence,  and  went  away  with  her  hands 
folded  on  her  breast. 

Though  the  evening  was  young,  Baba  retired 
straightway,  but  without  any  intention  of  sleeping. 
Once  in  her  bed  she  was  not  liable  to  interruptions 
of  women  or  children,  who  clamored  lustily  round  her 
in  her  waking  hours.  Now  she  was  eager  to  think  out 
her  plans  for  the  morrow,  and  how  best  to  accomplish 
the  most  important  mission  ever  intrusted  to  her.  It 
was  full  three  hours,  and  the  whole  zenana  had  grown 
sleepy  -  still,  before  at  last  she  turned  upon  her  side 
and  closed  her  eyes  in  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that,  of  all  the  plans  she  could  think  of,  the  one  she 
had  finally  decided  on  held  out  the  greatest  chance  of 
success. 

Next  morning,  the  twenty-second  of  the  fair  month, 
found  the  city  still  wrought  up  over  the  strange  hap 
penings  of  the  day  before.  Istar's  fall  was  not  a  matter 
of  rejoicing  to  Babylon  in  general.  Many  a  woman 
had  wept,  and  many  a  workman  turned  silent  and 
solemn  on  hearing  of  her  expulsion  from  the  tem 
ple.  In  one  quarter  of  the  city  only  was  there  a  uni 
versal  sense  of  delight.  This  was  in  the  extreme 
southwest,  south  of  the  canal  of  the  Prophet,  and 


feGIBI   &   SONS  319 

accessible  from  the  outside  only  by  the  gate  of  the  Mas- 
kim.  This  little  spot  was  a  settlement  of  an  alien  race, 
and  its  inhabitants  enjoyed  a  mode  of  life  peculiarly 
their  own.  It  was  the  quarter  that  had  been  assigned, 
fifty  years  before,  to  the  Jewish  people,  when  Nebu 
chadrezzar  had  brought  them,  ten  thousand  strong, 
from  their  far,  barren  country,  to  be  a  menace  and  a 
curse  unto  his  descendant. 

So  entirely  distinctive  a  life  did  these  captives  live, 
that  their  quarter  was  not  greatly  frequented  by  Baby 
lonians.  But  there  was  one  house,  standing  near  the 
traders'  square,  covering  a  large  plot  of  ground,  and 
much  more  richly  tiled  than  any  of  its  neighbors,  that 
had  been  and  was  frequented  by  the  greatest  men  in 
Babylon — prince  and  priest,  judge  and  minister — and 
the  business  of  which  was  on  a  greater  scale  than  that 
of  any  similar  native  house,  and  which  was  in  the  end 
destined  to  become  famous  in  the  annals  of  Babylonish 
history.  This  was  the  great  banking-firm  of  Egibi 
&  Sons;  and  it  was  managed  at  the  present  time 
by  three  generations  of  the  family:  Bunanitu,  a  re 
markable  old  woman  of  more  than  sixty  years  of  age ; 
Kalnea,  her  son,  a  man  something  over  forty;  and 
Kabtiya,  her  grandson,  a  youth  in  his  twentieth  year 
and  still  unmarried.  The  establishment  that  was  run 
by  these  three  to  tremendous  advantage  to  themselves, 
and  not  a  little  to  that  of  some  others,  had  become, 
through  the  influence  of  Daniel,  the  rendezvous  for 
the  priestly  traitors  of  the  city.  Both  Kalnea  and 
his  son  were  dangerously  implicated  in  the  schemes  of 
Amraphel;  and,  though  Bunanitu  had  always  shrunk 
a  little  from  the  councils  held  within  her  walls,  her 
racial  prejudices  against  the  reigning  family  were 
too  strong  for  her  not  to  be  wholly  in  sympathy  with 
their  enemies. 

An  hour  after  its  accomplishment  the  news  of  the 
fall  of  Istar  had  reached  this  household,  through  a 
message  from  Amraphel  himself,  who  commanded 


320  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

them  to  prepare  for  a  meeting  at  noon  on  the  following 
day — the  very  obvious  consequence  that  Ribata  had 
foreseen.  The  message  made  no  difference  in  the  usual 
business  of  the  morning;  and  at  noon,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  trade  was  relaxed  for  the  dinner-hour.  Few 
people  were  in  the  streets,  and  no  customers  haunted 
the  various  small  shops  in  the  quarter.  The  house 
of  Egibi,  however,  was  more  fortunate  than  its  neigh 
bors.  Between  twelve  and  half-past  no  fewer  than 
seven  men  passed  in  the  door  of  the  bank;  and,  more 
unusual  still,  when  the  last  one  of  them  went  in,  the 
first  had  not  yet  come  out.  A  little  peculiar,  certainly; 
but  to  the  single  person  who  witnessed  the  arrivals  from 
a  safe  retreat  behind  a  great  pile  of  porous  water-jars 
displayed  for  sale  in  the  street  near  by,  the  event  ap 
peared  to  have  less  of  the  strange  than  of  the  satis 
factory  in  it.  This  watcher  was  a  small,  half-robed 
letter-carrier,  who  had  loitered  about  the  neighbor 
hood  for  half  an  hour,  unseen  by  a  single  soul.  He 
waited  for  five  or  ten  minutes  after  the  entrance  of  the 
last  of  the  seven,  made  his  way  round  the  corner  behind 
the  house,  and  was  presently  to  be  seen  dashing  round 
it  at  break-neck  speed,  up  to  the  open  door  of  the  estab 
lishment. 

Bunanitu  was  alone  in  the  large  room,  and  she 
came  to  the  door,  looking  out  with  some  anxiety  at 
the  small,  black  creature  that  stood  panting  before 
her. 

"Thy  business,  boy?"  she  demanded,  sharply. 

The  boy  peered  up  at  her,  giving  her  eye  for  eye 
suspiciously.  "Who^are  you?"  he  croaked. 

"  Bunantitum  Bit-Egibi. " 

"Mother  of  Kalnea?" 

"Yea." 

"Oho!  Then  I  give  thee  this,  to  be  "—the  boy  put 
a  mysterious  finger  to  one  side  of  his  nose  and  whis 
pered  so  softly  that  the  woman  bent  over  to  catch  his 
words  —  "to  be  delivered  to  Amraphel,  my  lord,  in 


fiGIBI    &    SONS  321 

council — if  thou  knowest  the  place."  And  he  held 
up  a  neat  little  brick,  covered  with  exquisitely  minute 
writing  and  elaborately  sealed. 

Bunanitum,  growing  rather  large  over  the  affair, 
took  the  epistle  with  a  nod.  "I  know/'  she  whis 
pered,  in  return,  and  the  boy,  with  an  answering  look, 
turned  as  if  to  go  away. 

The  woman,  hasty  with  her  new  importance,  did 
not  stay  to  watch  his  departure.  She  turned  about 
and  started  for  the  back  part  of  the  house,  leaving  the 
outer  room  quite  empty  for  the  space  of  three  minutes. 
And  during  that  three  minutes  Baba  brought  her 
plan  to  a  successful  issue. 

No  one  saw  the  little  letter-carrier  enter  the  shop. 
Still  less  did  any  one  know  when  he  darted  out  of 
it  and  back  into  the  maze  of  corridors  and  rooms 
behind.  Here,  in  a  well -chosen  corner,  very  dimly 
lighted,  Baba  huddled  herself  up,  to  await  the  return 
of  Bunanitu  to  her  post  of  duty,  which  would  leave 
the  whole  rear  of  the  house  open  to  inspection.  Shortly 
the  Jewess  could  be  seen  passing  quickly  along  an  ad 
joining  hall-way,  on  her  way  back  to  the  shop,  whither 
she  had  been  hastily  sent  by  her  son.  And  when 
she  was  gone,  Baba,  with  a  long  breath,  left  her 
hiding-place.  The  most  uncertain  and  perhaps  the 
most  dangerous  part  of  her  work  was  over;  but  the 
important  half  of  it  remained  still  to  be  done.  She 
was  confident  of  the  efficacy  of  her  disguise;  and  she 
was  free  to  move  rapidly  in  her  scant  tunic  with  her 
black-stained,  bare  limbs,  and  her  flowing  hair  crammed 
under  a  woolly,  black  wig.  Nevertheless  her  heart 
beat  violently  as  she  left  her  corner  and  began  to  search 
for  the  room  where  the  secret  council  would  sit,  or 
for  some  hiding-place  where  the  sound  of  voices  would 
come  to  her  ears.  She  had  proceeded  nearly  to  the  back 
wall  of  the  house,  and  was  beginning  to  fear  that  the 
council-room  was  too  well  concealed  for  discovery, 
when  a  faint  murmur  of  talking  reached  her  ears. 


322  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

It  came,  apparently,  from  somewhere  below,  and,  with 
the  first  murmurous  sound,  Baba  stopped  short  to  look 
about. 

The  room  where  she  stood  was  large,  almost  dark, 
and  scantily  furnished.  Its  walls,  however,  were  hung 
with  elaborate  draperies,  and  its  floors  covered  with 
costly  rugs.  Save  for  two  or  three  inlaid  chairs,  with 
embroidered  cushions  and  carven  feet,  the  room  was 
empty  of  furniture.  But  from  somewhere,  and  some 
where  below,  came  that  unceasing  murmur  of  con 
versation.  The  intruder  examined  her  surroundings 
from  floor  to  ceiling.  Then  she  looked  all  round  the 
walls,  and  finally  back  again  to  the  floor.  Here,  on 
a  certain  spot,  her  eyes  stopped.  It  was  where  the 
corner  of  a  great  crimson  rug  was  turned  up,  as  if  it 
had  been  hastily  laid.  And  by  this  upturned  corner 
was  a  black  spot  that  was  not  shadow.  In  the  dim 
light  Baba  could  distinguish  nothing  very  clearly; 
but  she  moved  noiselessly  across  to  this  place,  and 
found  when  she  came  to  it  that  the  voices  had  become 
definite,  and  she  could  hear  what  was  being  said. 
There  was  a  square  opening  in  the  floor,  all  but  four 
or  five  inches  of  which  was  quite  concealed  by  the  rug. 

Without  any  hesitation  Baba  threw  herself  flat 
down,  and  then,  realizing  to  the  full  the  risk  that  she 
ran,  pushed  the  rug  yet  farther  away  from  the  opening, 
put  her  face  close  to  it,  and  looked  down. 

Below  was  a  good -sized  vault,  made,  probably,  in 
the  brick  platform  on  which  the  house  stood.  It  was 
well  lighted  with  torches  and  lamps,  hung  with  richly 
embroidered  tapestry,  and  ceiled  with  glazed  bricks 
of  bright  colors.  Its  furniture  consisted  of  piles  of 
rugs  and  cushions  on  which,  seated  in  an  orderly 
circle,  sat,  not  nine,  but  fourteen  men,  all  but  four  of 
whom  wore  the  goat-skin.  Baba  did  not  know  them 
all,  even  by  sight;  but  half  were  familiar  figures, 
and  the  other  half — well,  Ribata  should  tell  her  their 
names  to-night,  after  her  description.  Those  that 


EGIBI    &    SONS  323 

she  knew  were  Amraphel,  Vul- Raman  of  Nebo  and 
Nergal,  Larissib-Sin  of  Marduk,  Zir-Iddin  of  Shamash 
at  Sippar,  Siatu-Sin,  Itti-Bel,  and  Gula-Zir,  together 
with  Beltishazzar  the  Jew  and  his  i ellows  Kalnea  and 
young  Kabtiya  of  the  house  of  Egibi;  and  the  rest 
were  one  more  hawk-eyed  fellow  of  the  tribe  of  Judah, 
and  five  priests,  none  of  them  above  the  rank  of  elder. 

In  her  first  downward  glance  Baba  perceived  that 
Amraphel  had  in  his  hand  the  brick  letter  that  she 
herself  had  sent  him;  and  evidently  its  contents  had 
been  surprising  enough  to  displace  the  former  topic 
of  discussion  and  to  raise  a  storm  of  talk.  Amraphel 
and  Beltishazzar  were  silent,  waiting,  with  more  or 
less  patience,  for  a  chance  of  being  heard.  After  a 
little  time  this  opportunity  came,  for  the  majority  of 
those  present  were  too  ignorant  of  their  subject  to  be 
particularly  instructive ;  and  at  last  they  quieted,  one 
by  one,  and  turned  to  the  place  where  their  leaders  sat. 

Amraphel  spoke  the  first  words  that  Baba  was  able 
to  catch  definitely,  and  from  that  time  on  there  was 
nothing  that  she  did  not  hear  and  remember. 

"Now  that  ye  take  council  with  silence,  men  of 
emptiness,  learn  of  me  that  there  is  little  enough  danger 
in  the  fact,  even  if  it  be  true,  that  Belshazzar  has  taken 
the  woman  of  Babylon  to  wife.  Answer  me  severally 
one  by  one,  if  there  has  been  in  any  of  your  temples  a 
rumor  of  such  a  marriage  made  by  any  of  its  priests. 
Siatu-Sin — dost  thou  remember?" 

"Nay,  Lord  Amraphel." 

This  answer  was  repeated  by  every  priest  present. 
Then,  in  the  little  pause  that  followed  before  Am 
raphel  went  on,  Daniel,  with  a  faint  smile,  observed : 

"Yesterday,  at  four  hours  after  noon,  Kasmani, 
second  sacrificial  priest  of  the  temple  of  Sin,  entered 
the  gates  of  Nabu-Nahid's  palace,  and  drove  away 
again  in  an  hour  in  the  golden  chariot  of  Prince  Bel 
shazzar." 

Every  one  looked  to  Amraphel  for  his  idea  of  this 


324  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

information.  The  high-priest  only  smiled,  in  slow  in 
difference,  and  continued :  "  The  woman  of  Babylon 
desires,  then,  to  be  queen  in  the  Great  City.  A  queen 
is  not  a  goddess ;  and  yet  I  say  unto  you  that  she  shall 
never  be  queen.  She  whom  I  drove  forth  yesterday 
from  the  temple  is  fallen  ill  under  her  disgrace.  This 
morning  at  dawn  came  to  me  Nergal  -  Yukin,  rab- 
mag  of  the  king's  household,  for  a  charm  to  ward  off 
a  fever  from  a  divine  lady/' 

Here  Amraphel  hesitated  for  the  fraction  of  a  sec 
ond,  while  a  thin  smile  spread  over  Daniel's  keen  face. 
"That  charm — "  he  urged. 

"  That  charm/'  said  Amraphel,  carefully, "  was  what 
the  great  Elamite  would  have  desired." 

"The  sword?"  demanded  Vul- Raman,  bluntly. 

"Ten  drops  of  the  liquor  from  an  adder's  fang,  to 
be  rubbed  upon  a  prick  in  the  left  wrist  at  sunset  to- 
day." 

Baba  gasped;  but  from  the  men  assembled  below 
there  was  only  a  quick  round  of  applause. 

"  By  dawn  to-morrow  there  will  be  no  more  of  '  Istar 
of  Babylon/  "  observed  Daniel,  satisfaction  oiling  his. 
tone. 

"And  the  Great  City  is  open  to  its  savior,"  con 
cluded  Siatu-Sin. 

Now  Baba  was  in  a  sudden  agony  to  escape,  for 
she  felt  that  the  life  of  Istar  rested  in  her  hands. 
Yet  sunset  was  still  many  hours  away,  and  the 
talk  that  was  beginning  gave  signs  of  proving  ex 
actly  what  Ribata  had  told  her  to  hear.  Therefore 
from  minute  to  minute  she  lingered  on  in  her  place, 
while  the  story  of  treachery  and  blood-guiltiness  was 
made  clear  to  her,  and  it  seemed  as  if,  with  the  evidence 
in  her  hands,  it  must  soon  be  possible  to  have  these 
men  put  to  death  without  imprisonment  and  with  a 
mere  form  of  trial.  And  had  it  been  two  centuries 
earlier  this  might  perhaps  have  been  arranged.  But 
Babylon  was  not  Nineveh,  and  the  power  of  Nabonidus 


£GIBI  &  SONS  325 

was  not  that  of  the  old  monarchs  of  Chaldea ;  neither 
was  the  king  by  nature  a  tyrant,  or  even  a  strict  ruler. 
And  possibly  because  of  these  things,  and  only  be 
cause  of  them,  these  councils  were  ventured  at  all. 

"What  is  the  last  word  from  Kurush?"  demanded 
Salathiel  the  Jew,  of  Amraphel. 

There  was  a  general  little  murmur  of  interest,  and  a 
settling  down  upon  the  cushions  as  if  for  a  lengthy  talk. 

"Kurush,"  said  Amraphel,  with  all  the  authority 
of  Cyrus  himself,  "  is  now  in  the  marsh  country  south 
of  Teredou,  and  from  there  he  despatches  a  letter  to  us. 
Ye  shall  hear  it." 

Amraphel  drew  from  the  pocket  of  his  broad  girdle 
a  clay  tablet,  slightly  larger  than  those  in  general 
use  for  letters,  and  covered  with  neatly  pressed  cunei 
form  characters.  This,  with  the  aid  of  a  small,  round 
magnifying-glass,  always  used  in  correspondence,  he 
read  aloud  to  those  assembled — and  to  Baba  above : 

' '  Unto  Amraphel,  high  servant  of  the  ancient  gods 
of  Babylon,  and  to  those  that  are  with  him,  thus  saith 
Kurush  the  Achsemenian :  With  me  it  is  well.  With 
thee  and  thy  houses  may  it  be  exceeding  wrell.  Now  I, 
the  king,  lie  secretly  in  the  country  to  the  south  of 
the  city  of  Teredou,  not  far  from  the  gulf  of  the  setting 
sun.  And  here,  from  the  east  and  from  the  north, 
the  army  will  assemble  about  me.  The  people  in 
the  land  are  poor  and  ill-content.  Little  grain  have 
they  to  eat,  and  short  measure  of  milk  to  drink.  The 
king  their  lord  knows  them  not.  To  me  they  turn,  in 
their  extremity.  Soon  shall  ye  learn  of  revolts  among 
the  dwellers  in  the  lowlands:  know,  then,  that  it  will 
be  by  my  hand.  After  this  we  will  march  northward, 
towards  the  gates  of  the  Great  City. 

"'Gobryas,  my  general,  the  governor  of  Gutium, 
is  in  the  north.  Before  him,  in  the  month  of  Duzu 
(June),  Sippar  and  its  works  shall  fall. 

"'Look  to  it  only  that  ye  hold  Babylon  estranged 
from  its  king.  She  whom  we  have  feared — doth  she 


326  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

bear  herself  yet  divinely?  The  captive  Jews  that  are 
in  the  city,  greet  them  well  for  me.  Tell  them  that, 
after  my  coming,  those  that  open  to  me  the  Great  City 
shall  know  again  the  land  of  their  fathers  and  their 
fathers'  fathers.  And  those  of  the  Babylonians  that 
shall  acclaim  me  master,  to  each  of  these  shall  be  given 
out  of  the  public  moneys  thirty  shekels  of  silver;  but 
to  the  great  that  bow  before  shall  be  given  high  offices, 
honor,  and  much  wealth.  And  in  the  month  of  Ab, 
Queen  of  the  Bow,  shall  Babylon  know  me. ' ' 

The  seal  of  Cyrus  was  affixed  to  the  end  of  the  epistle ; 
and  the  brick  was  passed  round  the  circle,  that  each 
man  present  might  be  sure  that  it  was  genuine. 

Now  began  a  discussion  that  proved  tedious  and 
scarcely  comprehensible  to  Baba.  It  was  about  num 
bers  and  divisions  of  men,  and  was  accompanied  by 
the  reading  of  endless  lists  of  names,  and  the  check 
ing  of  each  as  true  or  untrue  to  the  cause  of  rebellion. 
And  after  listening  to  this  talk  until  she  found  that 
it  would  be  utterly  hopeless  for  her  to  attempt  to  re 
member  anything  valuable  in  it,  Baba  rose,  pulled  the 
rug  carefully  back  to  its  original  place,  listened  for  a 
moment  to  make  sure  that  she  was  undiscovered,  and 
then,  with  the  utmost  caution,  made  her  way  to  the 
rear  door  of  the  house,  which  she  unfastened,  and 
through  which  she  safely  passed.  Once  outside,  in 
the  glare  of  day,  her  heart  afire  with  anxiety  for  I  star, 
she  started  away,  in  a  light-running  pace,  up  through 
the  city  that  she  knew  so  well.  Through  the  Traders' 
square,  across  the  canal  of  the  Prophet,  along  the  river- 
bank  for  an  endless  distance  she  ran,  till  she  came  to 
the  great  bridge,  across  which  loomed  the  high,  blue 
walls  of  the  new  palace. 

The  sun  was  swinging  down  towards  the  horizon 
now,  and  the  life  of  Istar  swung  with  it  in  its  balance, 
when  the  dishevelled  figure  of  Ribata's  slave  halted 
at  the  palace  gates  and  demanded  the  admission  that 
her  disguise  gained  for  her. 


XIII 
THE    RAB-MAG 

THROUGH  the  whole  of  the  day  following  her 
expulsion  from  the  temple,  Istar,  wife  of  Bel- 
shazzar  the  prince  royal,  lay  in  her  newly  assigned 
bedroom  in  the  far  wing  of  the  palace,  in  a  profound 
stupor.  She  was  unconscious,  apparently,  of  every 
thing  around  her — of  Belshazzar,  sitting  at  her  bed 
side  ;  of  the  child  that  lay  wailing  on  her  arm ;  of  the 
peace  and  the  orderly  quiet  of  this  new  home.  The 
spell  of  her  mighty  shame  and  woe  was  over  her.  She 
had  broken  under  it  like  the  reed  in  the  storm.  Every 
thing  that  had  passed  since  she  was  driven  by  the 
blows  of  the  ox-goad  out  into  the  day-glare  on  top 
of  the  ziggurat,  had  been  but  a  dim  vision  to  her. 
Physically,  she  was  very  ill.  This  was  not  wonder 
ful.  But  Belshazzar,  mad  with  rage  at  the  whole  of 
the  priesthood,  and  overwhelmed  with  pity  for  the 
woman  he  loved  as  only  he  would  have  dared  to 
love,  was  beside  himself  with  anxiety.  All  night 
the  rab-mag  of  his  father's  household,  the  most  re 
nowned  charm -doctor  in  Babylonia,  had  watched 
beside  him  in  her  room;  had  repeated  prayers  and 
formula  without  number;  and  had  burned  beans, 
leeks,  barley,  cakes,  butter,  frankincense,  and  liquor, 
till  the  room  smelled  indescribably,  and  Belshazzar 
himself,  resorting  to  common-sense,  ordered  a  dozen 
slaves  to  clear  the  atmosphere  with  fans  and  with 
pungent  strong-waters.  In  the  new  air  Istar  seemed 
to  breathe  more  easily,  and  had  even  moved  her  lips, 

327 


328  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

though  no  sound  issued  from  them.  Then  Belshaz- 
zar  commanded  the  rab-mag  to  depart  until  daylight, 
when  he  should  return  with  new  wisdom. 

Thereupon  Nergal-Yukin,  half  angry,  half  ashamed, 
wholly  chagrined,  went  forth  through  the  silent  streets 
to  the  house  of  Amraphel.  Here  he  was  made  to  un 
dergo  a  change  of  feeling.  The  priest  recognized  an 
opportunity  in  the  first  three  sentences  that  the  doctor 
spoke,  and  instantly  took  advantage  of  it.  He  set  to 
work  to  play  upon  the  alchemist's  feelings,  and  such 
was  his  success  that  presently,  by  means  of  sympathy 
for  the  insults  he  had  endured  and  promises  of  dazzling 
wealth,  coupled  with  righteous  denunciations  of  Istar 
as  the  queen  of  darkness,  of  wickedness,  of  all  the 
vices,  the  learned  man  found  his  price,  bent  the  knee 
before  his  preceptor,  and  hied  him  back  to  his  den  of 
charms,  where,  kept  in  a  convenient  cage,  was  an 
adder,  dwelling  effectively  among  the  other  insignia  of 
this  awe-inspiring  profession. 

Nergal-Yukin  did  not  re-enter  Belshazzar's  presence 
that  morning;  but  he  sent  a  slave  to  say  that  he  was 
preparing  a  new  and  infallible  charm,  that  could  not,  to 
be  most  efficacious,  be  applied  before  the  hour  of  sun 
set.  Belshazzar  was  pleased  with  the  message;  per 
haps  not  less  pleased  because  it  gave  him  the  chance 
of  being  alone  at  Istar's  side  all  through  the  day.  Not 
for  one  moment  did  he  leave  or  even  turn  his  thoughts 
from  her.  Councillors  and  courtiers,  officials  and 
judges,  tax-collectors,  officers  of  his  regiment,  treas 
urer  and  usurers,  were  kept  from  his  presence  by 
peremptory  command.  He  refused  food  for  himself; 
but  he  made  an  effort  to  force  something  between  Is 
tar's  pallid  lips — and  in  the  attempt  succeeded  in  rous 
ing  her  for  a  moment  from  her  stupor.  As  he  knelt 
by  her  side,  supporting  her  head  upon  his  arm,  his 
hand,  unsteady  with  an  emotion  that  none  would  have 
believed  possible  to  him,  holding  the  cup  of  warm  milk 
to  her  mouth,  Istar's  great  eyes  opened  and  she  looked 


THE    RAB-MAG  329 

at  him.  There  was  a  fulness  in  Belshazzar's  throat 
that  presently  broke  into  a  sob.  Blindly  he  groped 
in  the  realm  of  prayer  for  some  words  into  which  he 
could  put  his  heart.  And  his  will  rose  up  in  him, 
till  he  would  have  pitted  himself  against  all  the 
powers  of  hell  for  the  sake  of  saving  the  life  of 
this  woman  who  was  lawfully  and  spiritually  his 
own. 

"You  shall  not  die — you  shall  not  die — not  die!" 
he  muttered,  over  and  over  again. 

Then  Istar  sank  back  upon  her  many  pillows. 
The  heavy  lids  once  more  shut  off  her  wonderful  eyes 
from  his  sight.  Her  face  was  colorless  and  drawn. 
He  could  trace  with  ease  the  course  of  each  tiny  blue 
vein  in  her  fair  temples.  He  looked  at  her  hands — 
so  white,  so  transparent,  so  frailly  beautiful;  and 
over  them  he  bent  his  head,  touching  them  with  his 
lips.  As  he  kissed  them  there  came  a  wail  from  the 
baby.  Instinctively,  half  conscious  as  she  was,  Istar 
gathered  the  child  to  her  side,  while  he,  the  man,  looked 
on,  wondering  and  helpless. 

Noon,  with  its  breathless,  stifling  heat,  came  and 
went  again.  An  hour  after  it  a  slave  tiptoed  into 
the  room  and  whispered  a  name  to  Belshazzar.  The 
prince's  expression  brightened  a  little.  "Let  him 
come  in  to  me/'  he  said,  softly. 

A  moment  or  two  afterwards  Ribata  noiselessly 
entered  the  room. 

Belshazzar  held  out  both  hands,  greeting  his  friend 
with  such  an  air  of  weary  helplessness  that  Ribata 
stared  at  him  uncomfortably. 

"  Name  of  the  great  Marduk,  Belshazzar,  what  is 
come  to  thee?"  he  asked,  holding  his  friend  at  arm's- 
length  and  looking  into  his  face  with  a  mixture  of 
sympathy  and  perplexity. 

"Hush!     Curb  thy  voice!     She  will  be  disturbed." 

Ribata  looked  about  him  with  intense  curiosity. 
"Belshazzar,  art  thou  gone  mad?  What  is  this  thing 


330  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

that  absents  thee  from  thy  duties?  Thou  art  needed 
to-day — in  council — at  the  review — " 

"  Nay — let  others  look  to  these  things ;  let  my  father 
look  to  his  own,"  whispered  Belshazzar,  in  reply, 
drawing  his  friend  down  on  the  cushions  beside  him. 

Ribata  found  no  answer  to  the  words.  Here  was 
a  Belshazzar  whom  he  did  not  know.  He  ventured 
no  further  remarks,  but  remained  sitting  quietly  be 
side  his  friend — waiting.  By  degrees,  as  the  silence 
continued  without  much  prospect  of  abating,  Bit- 
Shumukin's  eyes  began  to  study  the  passive  face  of 
Istar.  The  nobleman  had  never  before  been  so  near 
her;  and  never  before,  even  in  the  old  days  when  he 
had  seen  her,  towering  in  a  cloud  of  silver  above 
the  multitude  in  her  triumphal  car,  had  he  been  so 
impressed  with  her  divine  purity.  There  was  that  in 
her  face,  marked  and  mortalized  by  suffering  as  it 
was,  that  put  mortal  things  far  away  from  her.  His 
wonder  at  Belshazzar 's  boldness  grew  greater.  The 
spirit  which  could  have  moved  any  man  to  look  upon 
that  face  with  a  feeling  of  equality,  daring  the  hope  of 
making  her  his  own,  was  enough,  in  Ribata's  eyes, 
to  raise  that  man  above  the  level  of  humanity.  He 
turned  to  look  upon  the  prince.  Belshazzar  lay  back 
on  the  divan,  lost  in  some  unfathomable  reverie.  Ri 
bata  hesitated  to  bring  him  back  into  the  present, 
yet  felt  a  kind  of  discomfort  in  the  presence  of  these 
two  strange  beings.  Unable  to  contain  himself,  he 
suddenly  started  up,  with  the  idea  of  leaving  the  apart 
ment.  Belshazzar,  however,  was  instantly  roused  by 
his  move. 

"Ribata,"  he  said,  quietly,  "do  not  go  from  us." 

The  friend  turned  to  him,  answering :  "  My  lord 
knows  there  is  much  to  be  done.  I  go  to  thy  work." 

Belshazzar  rose  and  laid  both  hands  tenderly  on  the 
shoulders  of  his  friend.  "My  brother,"  he  said,  "for 
my  father,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  crown  that  will  one 
day  be  mine,  I  have  labored  long ;  and  for  them  I  will 


THE    RAB-MAG  33* 

labor  again,  even  unto  the  end.  But  now,  for  a  little 
while,  I  tarry  here,  beside  the  bed  of  my  beloved,  for 
whose  coming  I  have  waited  many  weary  months. 
Then  wilt  thou  not  watch  here  with  me  through  one 
little  hour?  I  ask  it  for  the  love  I  bear  thee,  Bit- 
Shumukin;  and  be  sure  that  there  is  no  other  in 
Babylon,  nay,  or  in  all  the  world,  that  could  hold  thy 
place  in  my  heart." 

A  wave  of  emotion  that  was  half  wonder  swept 
over  Ribata.  Never  before  had  Belshazzar  spoken 
like  this  to  him — never  before  like  it  to  any  man  or  to 
any  woman.  Bit-Shumukin  made  no  reply  in  words, 
but  he  yielded  instantly  to  the  gentle  pressure  of  the 
prince's  hand  and  sank  back  again  on  the  cushions. 
Once  more  he  turned  his  gaze  upon  the  white,  passive 
features  of  Istar,  and,  without  looking  away  from 
her,  he  asked: 

"  Dost  thou  leave  her  like  this,  with  neither  medicines 
nor  prayers?  Where  is  the  rab-mag,  that  he  attends 
not  on  her  sickness?" 

"  All  through  the  night  he  has  worked  over  her  with 
charms  and  incantations.  At  sunset  to-day  he  will 
come  again,  bringing  with  him  a  new  charm  more 
powerful  than  any  ever  used  before.  The  hour  of 
sunset  is  not  far  away.  Then  if  she — " 

The  speech  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  a 
eunuch,  who,  making  his  prostration  in  the  door-way, 
stood  silently  waiting  permission  to  speak. 

"What  is  thy  business?  Say  it  softly/'  whispered 
the  prince,  with  a  frown. 

"  May  the  ears  of  my  lord  incline  themselves  kindly ! 
There  is  at  the  gate  a  letter-carrier  that  bears  a  mes 
sage  for  the  Lady  Istar.  He  bade  me  seek  thee,  saying : 
'For  divine  Istar  my  word  bears  life.  If  she  heed 
me  not,  death  seizes  her  in  his  arms. ' ' 

"Bring  the  fellow  here,  guarded  by  two  eunuchs 
and  bound  about  the  arms  that  he  may  make  no  dan 
gerous  move." 


332  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

The  slave  bowed  and  disappeared.  When  he  was 
gone,  Ribata  observed,  thoughtfully :  "  It  is  well  that 
he  be  bound.  Day  by  day  thy  life  is  growing  more 
precious  to  Babylon,  more  desired  by  the  priesthood. 
By  day  and  night,  if  thou  wert  mine  to  care  for,  I 
would  have  thee  guarded." 

Belshazzar  smiled  a  little,  shaking  his  head;  and 
they  spoke  no  more  till  Baba,  fast  bound  and  also 
gagged,  was  thrust  into  the  room  by  two  soldiers  that 
moved  behind  her.  The  little  creature  was  dizzy  with 
the  heat,  covered  from  head  to  foot  with  dust,  and 
half  fainting  from  weariness.  At  sight  of  Ribata  she 
gave  a  gurgling,  choked  cry  behind  her  gag,  and, 
twisting  herself  suddenly  from  the  soldiers'  grasp, 
fell  in  a  little  heap  at  the  feet  of  her  lord. 

"Baba!"  he  cried,  gazing  in  bewilderment  at  the 
unrecognizable  figure,  but  knowing  her  posture  and 
her  smothered  voice. 

"Thou  knowest  this  fellow,  Ribata?"  queried  Bel 
shazzar,  curiously. 

'"Tis  a  woman,  lord  prince,  though  her  name  is  a 
man's.  I  will  answer  with  my  life  for  her  fidelity  to 
thee  and  to  the  Lady  Istar.  Let  thy  soldiers  depart — 
then  she  will  speak,"  he  said,  imperatively,  beginning 
to  unloose  the  rope  that  bound  her  arms. 

Belshazzar,  as  always,  accepted  his  friend's  word, 
dismissed  the  guardsmen  with  a  nod,  and  turned 
to  examine,  with  some  interest,  the  panting  heap  of 
humanity  at  Ribata 's  feet.  Bit-Shumukin  had  re 
moved  the  gag,  and  was  still  struggling  with  the 
stiff  knots  in  the  cactus-rope.  Belshazzar  finally  cut 
them  with  his  knife  and  set  Baba  free.  She  rose  un 
certainly  to  her  feet,  stretching  her  arms  above  her 
head.  Then,  suddenly,  she  grasped  her  hair,  gave  a 
great  tug,  and  pulled  the  wig  from  her  head,  leaving 
her  own  long,  black  locks  to  float  freely  around  her 
shoulders. 

"Where   didst   thou   get   the   stain   for   thy   skin? 


THE    RAB-MAG  333 

Thou'rt  black  as  a  Nubian,"  said  her  lord,  smiling 
at  her  uncouth  appearance.  Then  he  added,  hastily : 
"Nay,  child,  let  us  not  play.  What  hast  thou  learned 
in  the  house  of  Egibi;  and  what  is  thy  matter  of  life 
or  death  with  the  divine  Istar?" 

Before  she  had  uttered  the  first  word  ,of  her  answer, 
Baba's  eyes  fell  on  the  form  that  lay  stretched  out  on 
the  bed  She  gave  a  little  cry  of  astonishment  and 
reverent  admiration.  Then  she  cast  herself  on  her 
knees  before  Belshazzar. 

"  May  it  please  the  prince  my  lord  to  heed  my  words, 
for  I  speak  those  that  fell  an  hour  agone  from  the  lips 
of  Amraphel  of  Bel.  At  sunset  of  this  day  will  come 
Nergal  -  Yukin,  rab-mag  of  the  great  king,  to  the 
side  of  the  Lady  Istar.  He  will  bring  with  him  a  new 
charm  that  shall  purport  to  be  for  Istar  to  make  her 
well,  and  that  will  bring  her  to  her  death.  Amraphel 
hath  promised  the  man  honor  and  riches  when  he  shall 
make  a  cut  upon  the  Lady  Istar's  wrist,  rubbing  into 
it  ten  drops  of  the  poison  drawn  from  an  adder's 
fangs." 

"By  all  the  gods — !"  Belshazzar  leaped  to  his  feet. 
" Nergal-Yukin  dies  this  day!" 

"Where  hast  thou  heard  this  story,  Baba?" 

"  At  the  council  of  priests,  in  the  house  of  Egibi. " 

"Say  on — all  thou  hast  heard!"  commanded  Bel 
shazzar,  sharply. 

Thereupon  Baba,  seating  herself  on  the  floor,  re 
counted  to  the  two  men  her  adventure  of  the  afternoon. 
The  whole  council,  as  she  had  overheard  it,  the  names 
or  the  faces  of  the  men  that  took  part  in  it,  and  the 
letter  from  Cyrus  the  Elamite,  word  for  word,  she  un 
ravelled  from  the  warp  and  woof  of  her  memory.  Her 
auditors  listened  in  silence,  staring  into  each  other's 
faces,  neither  of  them  wholly  amazed,  yet  both  strongly 
moved  by  this  confirmation  of  their  worst  suspicions — 
the  suspicions  that  Nabonidus  would  not  entertain. 
Baba  gave  the  story  in  detail,  and  took  some  time  over 


334  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

it.  She  had  barely  finished,  and  there  had  been  no 
time  for  question  or  comment,  when  the  attendant  eu 
nuch  reappeared  at  the  door,  saying: 

"It  is  the  hour  of  sunset.  Nergal-Yukin  craves 
admittance  to  my  lord  and  to  the  divine  Lady  Istar." 

"Come  thou  hither/'  said  Belshazzar,  beckoning  the 
eunuch  to  his  side.  "Let  Nergal-Yukin  come  hither 
to  this  room,"  he  said,  softly,  "and  as  soon  as  he  shall 
be  within,  summon  thou  six  soldiers  of  the  guard  and 
command  them  to  wait  my  call  outside  in  the  hall. 
Let  them  bring  ropes  of  stout  cactus  and  a  gag  of 
wood,  and  cause  them  to  keep  silence  there  without 
until  I  shall  summon  them.  Now,  behold,  I  have 
spoken.  Go  thy  way  and  obey  my  word." 

The  eunuch  departed  obediently,  and  a  moment 
later  Nergal-Yukin  entered  the  bedchamber  of  the 
lady  of  Babylon.  He  was  a  tall  fellow,  this  rab- 
mag  of  the  king;  lean  and  withered  in  body,  black- 
robed,  and  wearing  the  peaked  hat  that  belonged  to 
the  livery  of  the  royal  household.  Around  his  waist 
was  a  golden  cord,  at  the  end  of  which  dangled  a  narrow- 
bladed  knife  of  Indian  steel,  its  handle  inlaid  with 
lapis-lazuli  and  gold.  In  his  hand  he  bore  a  golden 
phial  of  rare  workmanship.  His  salute  to  the  prince 
was  markedly  obsequious,  but  he  regarded  the  two 
others  in  the  room  with  great  disfavor. 

"Let  the  prince  my  lord  command  every  one  to  be 
dismissed  from  his  presence.  Otherwise  my  spell  must 
lose  its  potency." 

"These  are  my  friends.  Let  them  remain  here," 
returned  Belshazzar,  shortly. 

"  Then  let  my  lord  give  me  leave  to  depart  out  of  his 
presence.  The  work  will  be  useless,"  said  the  old 
man,  with  something  like  a  sneer,  beginning  to  back 
towards  the  door. 

But  Belshazzar  was  master  of  himself  and  of  the 
situation.  He  lifted  his  hand,  and  the  physician 
halted.  "Nergal-Yukin,  on  pain  of  death,  get  thee 


THE    RAB-MAG  335 

to  thy  work.  Pronounce  the  spell ;  and  may  the  gods 
take  heed  of  it." 

The  words  were  spoken  quietly  enough;  and  yet 
there  could  be  no  disobeying  that  tone.  Nergal-Yu- 
kin's  face  darkened;  but,  however  unwillingly,  he 
advanced  to  Istar's  side.  Lifting  over 'her  both  his 
long,  withered  hands,  he  began  to  pray  in  the  Ac- 
cadian  tongue  to  Nergal,  the  god  of  health.  Bel- 
shazzar,  Ribata,  and  Baba  stood  listening  stolidly, 
while  the  high-pitched  voice  went  on  and  on,  from 
prayers  to  exorcisms,  and  finally  into  mystic  exclama 
tions  and  phrases.  Here  the  man's  manner  changed, 
and  he  gave  symptoms  of  a  working  into  religious 
frenzy.  His  auditors,  however,  remained  painfully 
unresponsive,  and  the  final  "  Amanu  "  was  succeeded 
by  a  biting  silence.  It  was  then,  with  a  resentful 
satisfaction,  that  the  rab-mag  began  the  consumma 
tion  of  his  work.  He  commanded  a  basin  of  water  and 
a  fine  towel.  These  provided,  he  lifted  Istar's  right 
hand  from  the  coverlet,  and  proceeded  to  wash  and 
dry  it  during  the  repetition  of  further  prayers.  Then 
he  turned  to  Belshazzar. 

"May  it  please  the  prince  my  lord  to  learn  that 
this  remedy  which  I  am  about  to  apply  to  the  lady  of 
Babylon  is  the  most  powerful  and  the  most  dangerous 
of  any  known  to  mankind,  or  to  the  gods  above.  To 
them  that  are  pure  in  heart  it  cannot  fail  to  restore 
perfect  health.  By  it,  indeed,  the  very  dead  may  some 
times  be  lifted  up  from  Ninkigal  and  given  once  more 
to  the  light  of  Shamash.  But  if  the  person  to  whom 
the  magic  liquid  be  applied  is  guilty  of  great  sin,  then 
is  it  true  that  death  may  perhaps  come  upon  that  one. 
Now  wills  the  prince  my  lord  that  I  finish  the  spell?" 

"How  shall  it  be  finished?"  inquired  Belshazzar, 
phlegmatically. 

Nergal-Yukin  grinned  with  displeasure  and  dis 
appointment  at  having  failed  to  arouse  any  feeling 
by  his  words.  "  0  high  and  powerful  one,  with  this 


336  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

knife  that  hangs  at  my  girdle  I  cut  the  flesh  of  the 
right  wrist  till  a  drop  of  red  blood  flows  therefrom. 
Then  into  the  wound  I  pour  the  dazzling  stream  from 
this  precious  phial ;  and  when  they  have  mingled  well 
with  the  blood  of  the  lady,  you  shall  behold  her  rise 
up  and  call  thee  to  her  arms."  He  concluded  this 
explanatory  speech  with  an  obeisance,  and  had  already 
turned  to  the  couch  again  when  Belshazzar  gave  a 
low  call. 

Instantly  there  was  an  influx  of  armed  men  into 
the  apartment.  Nergal-Yukin  turned  in  time  to  see 
the  entrance  of  the  last  one.  The  next  instant  he  was 
Violently  seized  by  two  stalwart  men.  His  cries  of 
amazement  were  stifled  with  a  gag;  he  was  bound 
about  from  head  to  foot  with  the  unbreakable  cactus- 
rope,  and  then,  at  a  nod  from  Belshazzar,  borne  out  of 
the  unconscious  presence  of  Istar  into  the  hall  beyond. 
Thither  Belshazzar  and  Ribata  followed  him ;  but  Baba, 
at  a  sign  from  her  lord,  remained  where  she  was. 

Belshazzar's  face  was  a  thing  to  fear  as  he  bade  the 
guardsmen  stand  the  rab-mag  up  before  him.  Ner 
gal-Yukin  could  speak  only  with  his  eyes,  but  these 
were  eloquent  indeed.  Terror  and  agonized  pleading 
were  the  dominant  expressions  on  the  face  of  the 
wretched  creature.  Belshazzar  heeded  neither  one. 
In  three  words  he  commanded  his  men  to  free  the 
right  arm  of  the  magician.  Then,  while  Ribata  and 
the  soldiers  were  clustered  round,  watching  the  scene 
in  silent  fascination,  and  a  scream  of  terror  was  about 
to  break  through  the  gag,  Belshazzar  took  the  doctor's 
right  hand  in  his  own,  holding  it  in  an  iron  grasp ; 
and  with  the  other  he  seized  the  knife  that  still  hung  at 
Nergal-Yukin's  side.  The  eyes  of  the  doomed  man 
were  starting  from  their  sockets.  Ribata  came  forward 
a  little,  that  he  might  obtain  a  better  view  of  the  affair. 
The  soldiers  crowded  close  around.  Belshazzar  lifted 
the  knife  and  made  a  long,  delicate  slit  in  the  back  of 
the  physician's  wrist.  Then,  when  the  blood  had  be- 


THE    RAB-MAG  337 

gun  to  flow  thinly  forth,  Ribata  handed  his  master 
the  golden  bottle  that  had  been  left  on  the  foot  of 
Istar's  couch.  Belshazzar  nodded  his  thanks,  and, 
without  a  second's  hesitation,  opened  it.  The  liquid 
that  rolled  out  was  thick  and  rather  brown  in  color. 
The  prince  did  his  work  deftly.  With  one  finger  he 
rubbed  the  stuff  all  about  and  around  the  wound,  mix 
ing  it  with  the  fresh  blood,  and  allowing  none  of  it  to 
drip  off  the  wrist.  With  the  other  hand  he  helped  two 
of  his  soldiers  to  hold  the  rab-mag  still ;  for  the  fellow 
was  now  struggling  so  violently  that  this  was  not  a 
task  for  a  single  arm.  There  was  no  escape,  however. 
When  the  poison  had  been  made  to  enter  the  wound 
thoroughly,  Belshazzar  tore  a  strip  of  embroidered  lin 
en  from  the  bottom  of  his  tunic  and  bound  it  round 
the  arm,  fastening  it  with  a  pin  from  Ribata's  apparel. 
Then  he  stood  back  from  his  victim. 

"  Take  this  man  away,  and  bring  me  only  the  mes 
sage  of  his  death." 

Obediently  the  soldiers  lifted  their  burden,  now 
rigid  and  stiff  with  terror,  and  bore  him  like  a  log  of 
wood  out  of  the  presence  of  the  prince  and  across  the 
court-yard,  back  into  some  little-known  rooms  used  only 
for  the  most  obscure  servants  of  the  palace. 

Belshazzar  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  His  rage 
had  passed.  Only,  as  he  turned  to  smile  at  Ribata,  he 
was  slightly  pale.  Ribata  nodded  at  him  in  approval. 

"That  was  well  done,"  he  said.  "Those  that  live 
like  dogs,  like  dogs  let  them  die." 

"  And  now,  Ribata—" 

"Now,  O  prince,  I  return  with  Baba  to  my  house. 
Thou  hast  heard  all  that  my  slave  learned  of  the 
treachery  lurking  in  the  Great  City.  It  is  to  you 
that  Babylon  looks  for  her  defence.  Her  people  are 
yours.  Do  with  us  all  as  you  will.  We  are  in  your 
hands."  Ribata  made  the  lowest  obeisance,  some 
thing  not  due  from  his  rank  to  any  one  except  a  god ; 
and  Belshazzar  hastily  raised  him  up. 


338  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"It  is  to  thy  loyalty,  0  faithful  one,  that  Babylon 
will  owe  her  freedom.  Baba  likewise  shall  receive 
her  reward.  She  hath  saved  Istar's  life — that  is  more 
to  me  than  Babylon,  than  myself,  than  all  the  earth. 
Command  a  litter  for  her  now,  and  take  thou  my  chariot 
for  thy  return.  The  council  of  lords  sits  to-morrow 
after  sacrifice.  Then  we  will  speak  of  the  invader. 
Till  then — Bel  keep  you  safely!" 

Smiling,  Ribata  turned  back  into  the  other  apart 
ment.  He  found  Baba  on  her  knees,  beside  Istar's 
couch,  gazing  in  ecstasy  into  Istar's  open  eyes.  On  the 
other  side  the  baby,  haloed  round  with  a  soft  and  lumi 
nous  light,  slept  quietly.  Ribata  was  reluctant  to  draw 
Baba  from  the  scene;  but  the  child  was  faint  with 
fatigue,  and  so,  leading  her  gently  away,  he  lifted  her, 
when  they  were  outside  the  door,  in  both  his  arms,  and 
carried  her,  all  black  and  dishevelled  as  she  was,  out 
to  the  gate,  where,  in  the  face  of  a  dozen  astonished 
men,  he  placed  her  in  a  litter,  himself  mounted  Bel- 
shazzar's  chariot,  and  drove  away  in  it  in  the  direction 
of  the  canal  of  the  Four  Seasons. 

If  Baba's  day  of  labor  had  just  ended,  that  of  Bel- 
shazzar  only  now  began.  The  affair  of  the  rab- 
mag  had  left  him  intensely  uneasy,  and  this,  coupled 
with  his  great  anxiety  over  the  sedition  in  the  city, 
promised  a  sleepless  night.  Still,  till  further  news 
of  Nergal  -  Yukin's  state  should  be  brought  him,  he 
was  powerless  to  act,  and  therefore  he  returned  to 
Istar's  room  and  seated  himself  there,  with  his  head 
resting  on  his  hands.  The  minutes  passed  unheeded, 
for  his  mind  was  full.  He  knew  that  his  wife  lay  near 
him,  and,  though  her  eyes  had  been  open  when  he 
entered  the  room,  he  believed  her  still  incapable  of 
sight  or  hearing.  Presently,  when  his  head  had  sunk 
lower  still,  he  felt  the  lightest  touch  on  his  arm,  and 
he  started  to  his  feet,  to  cry  out  in  amazement  as  he 
beheld  Istar,  tall  and  white,  swaying  beside  him. 

"Thou!"  he  said,  gasping. 


THE    RAB-MAG  339 

"The  heart  of  Belshazzar  is  troubled.  From  far 
away  come  I  to  bring  thee  consolation  in  thine  hours 
of  woe,"  she  said,  quietly,  as  one  speaking  from  a 
great  distance.  "Be  comforted,  0  my  lord!  That 
that  is  ordained  for  the  Great  City  must  come  to  pass. 
Neither  thou  nor  any  other  can  prevent  it.  But  be  not 
troubled  in  thy  heart,  my  prince.  In  the  end  this 
world  shall  grow  dim  before  thine  eyes,  for  there  will 
be  opened  before  them  another  kingdom  where  there 
shall  be  no  time,  neither  any  evil-doing.  Until  the 
coming  of  that  day,  my  lord,  be  comforted — take  heart 
— and  be  comforted!" 

In  that  one  moment  Istar  shone  forth  in  all  her  ra 
diant  glory,  like  some  spirit  from  a  divine  sunset. 
And  the  prince  fell  down  before  her  on  his  knees,  wor 
shipping  silently.  But  after  she  ceased  to  speak  the 
radiance  went,  and  she  fainted  before  him  in  her  weak 
ness  of  the  flesh.  So  he  caught  her  in  his  arms  and 
brought  her  once  more  to  her  couch.  When  she  woke 
again,  only  Belshazzar  remembered  the  words  that  she 
had  spoken  to  him.  Yet  he  knew  that  the  message 
had  come  from  out  of  the  silver  sky,  and  with  this 
knowledge  peace  came  to  him,  and  he  went  and  lay 
down  upon  the  divan  in  the  room. 

He  had  lain  there  for  some  minutes,  his  mind  filled 
less  with  foreboding  than  with  wonder,  when,  for  the 
third  time,  the  eunuch  appeared  at  the  door,  this  time 
wearing  on  his  carefully  trained  face  an  untoward 
expression  of  interest. 

"Speak,  Apia,"  whispered  Belshazzar,  anxiously. 

"May  it  please  my  lord — Nergal-Yukin  is  dead." 

"How?     How?" 

"In  great  anguish.  Being  ungagged,  he  cried 
mightily,  and  screamed  aloud  to  the  gods  and  demons, 
uttering  curses  on  Amraphel  the  priest  of  Bel,  and 
upon  Belshazzar  my  lord,  and  upon  the  king  Nabu- 
Nahid.  Thus  is  Nergal-Yukin  dead." 

"It  is  well  that  all  dogs  should  die.     Listen,  then, 


340  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Apia,  and  do  my  bidding.  Let  forty  of  my  runners, 
attired  in  their  liveries,  go  forth  into  the  city  with 
trumpets  and  cymbals,  and  let  them  cry  aloud  through 
all  Babylon  the  story  of  the  rab-mag's  treachery  and 
his  end.  The  name  of  Amraphel  must  not  be  spoken ; 
but  the  criers  shall  so  word  their  story  that  no  man 
can  be  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  Amraphel  himself 
prompted  this  deed  out  of  hatred  to  me.  Listen,  then, 
while  I  tell  thee  the  story  of  the  sin  of  the  rab-mag, 
and  thou  must  repeat  it  as  I  say  it  to  you,  to  all  my 
criers." 

Then  Belshazzar  proceeded  to  recount,  tersely  and 
truthfully,  the  tale  of  the  attempted  assassination  of 
Istar.  When  he  had  finished,  and  Apia,  big-eyed  and 
eager,  had  repeated  the  words  after  him,  he  dismissed 
the  eunuch  to  assemble  the  runners,  and  then  the 
prince,  his  work  beginning  to  assume  definite  propor 
tions  in  his  mind,  summoned  two  women  to  watch  over 
the  goddess,  and,  leaving  them  with  her,  went  his  way 
to  the  apartments  of  the  king  his  father. 

Nabonidus  sat  in  his  coolest  room,  comfortably  par 
taking  of  his  supper.  A  dancing -girl  had  just  fin 
ished  her  postures '  before  him,  and  he  had  dismissed 
her,  while  his  favorite  poet  was  summoned  to  take  her 
place.  Nabonidus'  gentle,  sheep-like  face  wore  an  air 
of  benign  content  as  his  hand  moved  regularly  from 
mouth  to  plate,  and  his  head  swayed  to  the  rhythm 
of  the  tune  that  had  been  played.  The  poet  was  just 
mounting  his  dai's  and  unrolling  his  strip  of  Egyptian 
papyrus  when  the  prince  reached  the  door  of  his  father's 
apartment.  It  was  really  pitiable  that  all  this  pleasant 
twilight  delight  should  be  so  roughly  disturbed.  But 
disturbed  it  was,  as  a  lake's  calm  by  the  east  wind, 
as  soon  as  Belshazzar  entered  his  father's  presence 
and  made  his  obeisance.  Nabonidus'  expression  was 
more  that  of  resignation  than  of  displeasure  as  he 
said,  courteously: 

"  Let  there  be  a  couch  brought  in  for  thee,  Bel-shar- 


THE    RAB-MAG  341 

utsur,  and  partake  with  me  of  this  flesh  of  the  whir- 
ring-bird,  and  barley,  while  Kiba  recites  to  us  the 
tale  of  Izdubar  and  Ea-bani  full  of  wisdom."  Nabo- 
nidus  made  his  suggestion  with  an  air  of  hopefulness 
that  belied  his  real  feeling;  and  he  was  not  surprised, 
however  much  disappointed,  when  Belshazzar  replied : 

"  May  it  please  the  king  my  lord  to  grant  me  a  private 
audience.  There  are  matters  of  great  import  to  be 
laid  before  him.  I  beg  that  my  lord  be  moved  to  grant 
this  wish." 

These  words,  couched  as  they  were  in  the  form  of 
supplication,  were  spoken  in  such  a  tone  of  command 
as  Nabu-Nahid  dared  not  refuse.  But  in  justice  to 
the  son  be  it  said  that  this  manner  only  ever  gained 
for  any  one,  save  poets  and  architects,  a  moment's 
consideration  with  the  king.  By  this  method,  how 
ever,  Belshazzar  succeeded ;  and  presently  he  and  his 
father  were  alone. 

Nabu-Nahid  had  ceased  to  eat,  and  sat  regarding  his 
son  with  an  air  of  petulant  displeasure.  "  Now  speak 
to  me  quickly,"  he  said,  in  his  mildly  injured  fashion. 
"The  season  is  too  late  for  lion-hunting;  your  com 
mand  over  the  treasury  equals  mine ;  I  have  at  present 
not  one  dancer  that  would  please  you;  and  for  the 
matter  of  soldiers — go  to  Nana-Babilu  at  Sippar.  I 
am  not  the  commanding  general.  What,  then,  seeing 
these  things,  canst  thou  ask  of  me?" 

Belshazzar  snapped  his  fingers  and  frowned  might 
ily.  The  fears  in  his  mind  might  be  vague  and 
ill-defined  as  yet;  but  when  he  did  consider,  in  some 
presentient  fashion,  the  scenes  of  terror  that  were 
soon  to  be  enacted  in  the  Great  City,  and  when  he  im 
agined  his  father,  weak,  gentle,  yielding  as  he  was, 
swept  into  that  furious  vortex  of  blood  and  of  death, 
what  could  there  be  but  pity  for  the  old  man  and 
dread  for  his  inevitable  end?  Now,  for  a  moment, 
indeed,  Belshazzar  wondered  how  it  was  that  his  fa 
ther  had  held  his  throne  even  one  little  twelvemonth, 


342  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

after  the  strife  that  had  preceded  his  coronation.  Yet 
for  seventeen  prosperous  years  this  one  ruler  had  held 
city  and  state  together  peaceably;  and  there  were  few 
Chaldean  kings  -that  had  done  as  much 

"My  father/'  said  Bit-Shamash  at  last,  "it  is  for 
no  matter  of  pleasure  or  mine  own  affluence  that  I 
seek  thee  to-night.  It  is  for  thee,  for  thy  throne,  for 
the  sake  of  thy  kingdom,  of  ancient  Babylonia,  that  I 
would  take  council  with  thee  here." 

Hearing  these  words,  Nabu-Nahid's  face  assumed 
an  expression  that  was  unexpectedly  complex — a  little 
inscrutable,  indeed.  "  Since  what  time,  0  my  son, 
have  thy  thoughts  turned  towards  the  welfare  of  the 
throne?  Since  when  hath  thy  mind  been  more  en 
gaged  with  affairs  of  the  state  than  with  wines  and 
with  feasting,  dancing  -  girls  and  hunters  —  thou  and 
thy  companion,  Ribata  of  Skumukin?" 

Belshazzar  flushed  slightly.  "  My  father  hath  judged 
me,"  was  his  only  answer. 

Nabu-Nahid  merely  nodded  his  head  a  trifle,  and 
then  sat  looking  at  his  son  with  a  stupid  expression, 
waiting  for  him  to  depart,  as  at  this  stage  he  usually 
did.  In  point  of  fact,  Belshazzar  had  a  strong  impulse 
to  turn  on  the  instant  and  leave  his  father  to  his  supper 
and  his  poetry.  But  for  once  his  anxiety  was  stronger 
than  his  pride,  and  he  fought  back  the  angry  taunt 
that  had  risen  to  his  lips,  and  asked,  bluntly: 

"  Know  you,  0  king,  that  letters  of  invitation  pass 
from  our  city  to  Kurush,  king  of  Elam,  to  come  and 
take  his  place  on  the  throne  of  Babylon?" 

"  Letters  from  the  hands  of  Amraphel  of  Bel  and 
Beltishazzar  the  Jew?  Ay,  Bit-Shamash.  Think  you 
I  do  not  know  my  city?" 

Belshazzar  was  first  astonished,  then  inexpressibly 
relieved.  Was  it  possible  that  he  had  so  long  mis 
judged  his  father?  Was  it  possible  that  this  shambling 
and  vacant  manner  concealed  a  sound  mind  and  a 
great  understanding?  Had  he  for  so  long  kept  his 


THE    RAB-MAG  343 

own  best  self  from  the  king  to  find  out  his  grave  mis 
take  when  it  was  almost  too  late?  He  bent  his  head 
more  humbly  than  he  had  ever  bent  it  before  to  any 
man.  "I  crave  pardon  of  my  lord/' he  said.  "Be 
hold,  I  go  my  way." 

But  Belshazzar  had  not  all  the  magnanimity  of 
the  family.  Nabu-Nahid  suddenly  straightened  up, 
and  commanded  a  couch  to  be  moved  to  the  table. 
Wines  of  Lebanon  and  Helbon  were  brought  from 
the  cellars,  and  Belshazzar  was  waved  into  his  place 
with  a  gesture  that  admitted  of  no  refusal.  The 
prince  obeyed  the  invitation  rather  reluctantly.  He 
dreaded  the  return  of  the  poet,  and  had  no  'desire 
now  to  discuss  affairs  of  state  with  his  father.  How 
ever,  Nabonidus  opened  such  a  discussion  in  a  very 
tactful  way. 

"  Tell  me,  Belshazzar,  how  many  days  is  it  since 
this  conspiracy  of  the  priests  hath  been  known  to  you?" 

"For  more  than  three  months  I  have  suspected  it. 
It  is  but  to-day  that  it  hath  become  a  certainty." 

"And  the  matter  frightens  thee?" 

"Yea,  truly,  my  father.  When  I  came  to  thee  to 
night  my  heart  was  sick  with  the  thought  of  Babylon's 
great  danger.  But  since  thou,  the  king,  knowest  all 
and  fearest  naught,  my  fears  are  also  laid  at  rest. 
The  king  my  father  is  very  great.  May  he  live  for 
ever!"  and  Belshazzar  smiled  filially  into  his  father's 
eyes. 

"You  do  me  honor  to  trust  in  me,  Belshazzar," 
said  the  king,  gently.  "  Yet  do  you  well,  also ;  for  to 
whom  save  their  king  can  a  people  look  for  their  safety? 
I  will  tell  you  how  the  Great  City  is  to  be  protected 
against  the  plots  of  her  enemies.  Priest  and  lord 
alike  may  prove  false,  and  men  and  soldiers  turn  against 
me.  I  have  put  my  strength  and  my  trust  in  those 
that  are  above  princes.  Hark  you,  Belshazzar.  When, 
a  month  past,  I  learned  from  certain  watchers  whom 
I  employ,  of  the  great  plot  against  the  crown,  I  be- 


344  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

thought  me  long  and  earnestly  of  my  course.  Finally 
I  sent  out  secret  messengers  to  every  temple-city  in 
Babylonia,  and  from  every  heavenly  house  that  my 
hand  hath  restored  from  ancient  decay  I  caused  to 
be  sent  hither  to  me  the  oldest  and  holiest  god-image. 
These,  to  the  number  of  twenty-one,  are  now  in  a  little 
temple  by  the  river-bank,  where  I  daily  visit  them  and 
perform  sacrifice  before  them  till  the  time  when  they 
shall  move  in  procession  through  the  city,  and  go  each 
to  his  special  shrine.  And  that  day  approaches; 
for  the  city  grows  uneasy  under  the  seditions  of  the 
priests  and  their  oracles.  But  when  my  new  gods  are 
set  up  in  their  golden  houses  to  be  worshipped  by  the 
multitude  in  the  city,  think  you  not  that  the  first  care 
of  these  heavenly  ones  will  be  the  safety  and  pres 
ervation  of  me  and  of  my  line?" 

Belshazzar  said  nothing  for  some  time.  It  seemed 
impossible  for  him  to  speak.  This  sudden  revelation 
of  his  father's  incomprehensible  childishness,  follow 
ing,  as  it  did,  the  equally  unexpected  evidence  of 
his  understanding  of  the  situation  of  the  state,  had 
completely  overcome  him.  It  was  well  that  the  dim, 
bluish  lamp-light  made  all  faces  look  pale ;  for  at  this 
moment  the  prince's  skin  was  destitute  of  color.  All 
his  first  fears  came  back  to  him,  added  to  a  new  one, 
that  increased  the  horror  of  the  first  a  thousandfold. 
With  what  frightful  disaster  was  Babylon  not  threat 
ened?  And  what  hope  had  she  of  fighting  against 
devastation  under  the  leadership  of  a  half-crazy  old 
man  that  had  placed  an  unalterable  and  inhuman 
faith  in  the  power  of  certain  blocks  of  gray  and  crum 
bling  stone,  shaped  into  images  that  a  child  would 
hardly  believe  in?  Faugh!  Belshazzar  turned  sick 
with  disgust. 

"Speak,  Belshazzar!  What  think  you  of  this  hope 
of  mine?" 

"The  king  is  great.  May  he  live  forever!"  was  the 
response,  given  in  a  tone  of  soothing  calmness.  With 


THE    RAB-MAG  345 

the  words  the  prince  royal  also  rose  from  his  couch. 
"Now,  father,  I  go.  I  must  depart  from  thee,"  he 
said,  hurriedly.  "  There  is  a  matter  to  be  attended 
to.  Give  me  leave  to  quit  thy  presence." 

"As  you  entered  it  of  your  own  will,  so  depart," 
returned  his  father,  in  a  subdued  and  disappointed 
manner. 

But  Belshazzar,  whose  feeling  was  more  of  grief 
and  pity  than  anything  else,  went  to  his  father,  took 
his  hand,  and  laid  it  upon  his  brow  in  token  of  de 
votion  and  obedience. 

"  Thy  head  is  hot,"  observed  the  king. 

Belshazzar  smiled  faintly.  "Grant  me  leave  to 
depart,"  he  urged  again. 

"Yea,  in  peace  depart!" 

Somewhat  relieved  at  the  old  man's  tone,  a  little 
quieted  by  the  silence  and  the  dim  light  around  him, 
the  prince  moved  to  the  door  and  was  all  but  gone 
when  the  king  turned  and  spoke  to  him  again  in  a 
way  that  revealed  another  phase  of  his  curious  char 
acter.  "  Belshazzar,"  he  said,  "  look  well  to  this  Jew, 
Daniel.  He  was  a  member  of  the  court  of  the  mighty 
Nebuchadrezzar,  thy  grandfather.  A  traitor  and  a 
dangerous  man  is  he ;  but  he  is  a  prophet  also ;  and 
gold  will  buy  him.  If,  after  my  death,  the  city  should 
be  threatened  with  destruction,  look  to  him,  if  it  is 
possible,  for  help." 

Belshazzar,  dully  amazed  again,  yet  too  weary  of 
the  changes  of  his  father's  moods  to  pay  very  much 
attention  to  him,  answered  this  advice  with  an  obei 
sance  only,  and  then  went  his  way  towards  his  own 
rooms.  But,  even  as  he  went,  his  father's  last  words 
rang  again  through  his  ears.  "  A  traitor  and  a  dan 
gerous  man,  but  a  prophet  also;  and  gold  will  buy 
him — gold  will  buy  him!"  Thus  Belshazzar  pondered 
still. 

In  his  private  room  the  prince  found  his  evening 
meal  laid  out  and  waiting  his  coming.  Food,  how- 


346  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

ever,  was  not  his  desire ;  and,  letting  it  remain  where  it 
stood,  he  began  slowly  to  pace  his  room,  up  and  down, 
up  and  down  the  cool,  tiled  floor.  His  fan -slaves 
watched  him  curiously.  They  had  never  seen  quite 
such  an  expression  on  their  lord's  face.  In  truth, 
Belshazzar's  brain  throbbed  when  he  thought  of  what 
a  way  lay  before  him  to  be  traversed.  Babylon  tot 
tered  before  his  weary  mental  vision ;  and  finally,  in 
expressibly  heavy-hearted  with  it  all,  he.  sat  down  to 
eat  his  chilled  supper,  at  the  same  time  despatching  a 
slave  for  Khamma. 

The  dancing  -  girl,  with  her  gauze  draperies  and 
tinkling  ankle-bells,  came  in  to  him,  followed  by  her 
fellow-slaves  with  drum  and  lute.  The  maid  had  lost 
neither  her  grace  of  movement  nor  her  love  for  her 
Lord,  and  therefore  Belshazzar,  successfully  diverted  for 
the  moment,  finished  his  meal  more  pleasantly  than  he 
had  begun  it.  When  finally  he  rose  from  his  couch  it 
was  late.  The  moon  hung  in  the  heavens,  and  the  court 
yard  was  flooded  with  silver  light.  A  group  of  guards 
men,  clustering  round  a  fire,  sat  chanting  charms  in 
chorus.  Belshazzar  heard  their  voices  with  a  vague 
longing  for  shouts  of  men,  for  the  shrill  neighs  of 
horses,  for  the  rattle  of  chariot  wheels,  the  clash  of  arms, 
the  thunderous  murmur  of  battle  as  he  had  known  it 
in  his  youth.  If  only  war,  open  and  honorable,  lay 
between  him  and  Kurush  of  Elam — well  enough.  In 
that  he  stood  his  fair  chance  of  winning;  and  if  he 
lost,  it  was  death  at  his  own  hands.  The  game  that  he 
feared  and  that  he  hated  was  the  one  of  underhanded- 
ness,  of  lies,  of  treachery,  of  bribery.  When  a  man 
could  be  bought  for  gold  there  was  none  to  trust,  none 
to  feel  sure  of.  And  upon  these  things  the  prince 
wearily  pondered  as  he  gazed  out  into  the  night,  won 
dering,  half  consciously,  whether  to  go  to  Ribata  or  to 
seek  rest  from  his  mental  burden  in  sleep. 

While  he  debated  this  point  with  himself  there  came 
a  commotion  at  the  palace  gate,  the  arrival  of  a  fast 


THE    RAB-MAG  347 

chariot,  a  peremptory  call  for  admittance,  and  his 
own  name  spoken  in  a  familiar  voice.  An  instant 
later  a  slave  ran  to  him  with  the  word: 

"May  it  be  pleasing  to  the  prince  my  lord,  Lord 
Amraphel,  the  high-priest  of  Bel,  asks  conduct  to  the 
presence  of  the  Prince  Belshazzar." 

"  Bring  him  here  to  my  side,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

The  slave  left  him  obediently,  and  Belshazzar  pre 
pared  to  receive  his  visitor.  Retreating  a  little  towards 
the  centre  of  his  dining-room,  he  stood  with  the  torch 
light  at  his  back  and  the  glow  of  the  lamp  too  far  in 
front  to  shine  upon  his  face.  Here  he  awaited  the 
coming  of  his  father's  enemy. 

Amraphel  entered  the  presence  of  the  prince  royal 
with  his  usual  unruffled  dignity.  He  was  followed 
by  two  slaves,  who  stood  behind  him  during  the  per 
formance  of  the  elaborate  salutations.  Then  they  were 
dismissed,  and  bidden  to  await  the  return  of  their  mas 
ter  to  his  chariot. 

Belshazzar  was  unattended.  Thus  the  departure  of 
these  slaves  left  the  two  men  quite' alone,  out  of  the 
sight  and  out  of  the  hearing  of  the  rest  of  the  world. 
However  much  the  prince  was  on  his  guard,  his  man 
ner  betrayed  nothing  but  cold  courtesy.  This  sudden 
incident  had  come  as  a  relief  to  him.  Action  of  any 
sort  was  welcome.  He  was  perfectly  at  his  ease,  bare 
ly  polite,  little  respectful  of  the  age  and  station  of  the 
priest. 

With  Amraphel  it  was  different.  The  instant  that 
his  attendants  departed  his  air  of  unbending  dignity 
dropped  off  him  like  a  cloak,  and  into  his  face  there 
came  so  marked  an  expression  of  hatred  and  of  sup 
pressed  fury  that  Belshazzar's  eyes,  meeting  by  chance 
those  of  his  adversary,  forgot  their  course,  and  remained 
fascinated  and  fixed  on  that  other  gaze.  Simulta 
neously  both  stepped  forward. 

"My  lord  Amraphel  honors  me  unexpectedly,"  said 
the  prince,  giving  the  other  a  free  opening. 


348  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"  It  is  not  to  thy  honor,  but  rather  on  account  of  thy 
infamy,  that  I  come,"  was  the  reply. 

Belshazzar's  lips  straightened  themselves  out 
haughtily.  "Let  me  summon  a  seer  to  interpret  thy 
words,"  he  said. 

"  My  words  shall  interpret  themselves  to  you.  What 
answer  make  you  to  the  charge  of  murdering  Nergal- 
Yukin?" 

For  a  moment  Belshazzar  was  silent.  Then  he 
laughed — a  clear,  ringing  laugh. 

Instantly  Amraphel  lost  his  self-control.  Reaching 
Belshazzar's  side  in  two  strides,  he  lifted  his  right 
hand  in  the  face  of  the  prince.  Before  the  blow  fell 
Belshazzar  had  seized  the  priest's  arm  fast  in  his  grip, 
and  with  all  his  giant  strength  thrust  from  him  the 
figure  of  the  old  man. 

"Beware,  Amraphel,"  he  said,  so  softly  that  the 
priest  just  caught  the  words. 

"Hark  you,  son  of  the  sheep-king,  hark  you!  If 
within  the  hour  your  slaves,  the  criers  of  Nergal- 
Yukin's  death,  be  not  recalled  from  the  city  streets, 
not  one  of  them  shall  be  left  alive  by  morning." 

"If  that  is  thy  thought,  Amraphel  of  Bel,  at  day 
break  to-morrow  not  a  priest  in  the  city  shall  dare 
openly  to  wear  the  goat- skin  and  still  live." 

"You  defy  the  gods?" 

"I  defy  their  ministers." 

"  Then,  by  all  that  is  holy  in  heaven  and  earth,  be 
thou  and  thine  foully  cursed  f orevermore ! " 

Belshazzar's  lips  curled  again ;  and  again,  desecrat 
ing  all  the  traditions  of  his  race,  he  laughed— loud, 
and  long,  but  not  mirthfully. 

Amraphel,  as  he  gathered  his  scarlet  robe  close  about 
his  meagre  frame,  grew  white — very  white.  His  head 
was  held  high,  and  his  eyes  flashed  with  a  fire  that 
age  could  not  quell,  as  he  spoke  his  final  word :  "  Be 
thou  ware,  Belshazzar  of  Babylon,  lest  the  curse  of  the 
gods  be  given  for  fulfilment  into  the  hands  of  men!" 


THE    RAB-MAG  349 

As  he  turned  on  his  heel  Belshazzar's  answer  came, 
and  by  it  the  priest  learned  how  surely  the  governor 
of  the  city  was  of  his  mother's  loins,  and  not  of  his 
father's  blood.  "Thy  hand  and  that  of  Daniel  the 
Jew,  yea,  and  of  him  ye  call  the  Achaemenian,  will 
find  space  enough  on  my  body  whereon  to  strike  and 
strike  again,  0  Amraphel.  But  see  that  ye  fight  as 
men,  and  not  as  dogs.  Else,  by  my  faith,  as  dogs  ye 
shall  surely  die!" 

Belshazzar  hurled  the  last  word  after  the  priest 
into  the  court-yard,  for  Amraphel  was  now  well  on  his 
way  back  to  his  chariot.  The  echo  of  the  prince's 
voice  rolled  off  into  silence;  and  after  a  little  time  Bel 
shazzar  found  himself  still  standing  beside  the  table, 
his  head  bent,  his  eyes  moving  vacantly  over  the  floor, 
while  his  thoughts  were  as  empty  as  he  felt  his  words 
to  have  been.  A  little  after  the  interview  he  sought 
his  rest.  And  when  morning  dawned  again  and  he 
called  his  slaves  to  his  side,  the  criers  of  Nergal  -Yukin's 
death  had  not  been  slain;  though  perhaps  in  the  end 
that  consummation  had  been  better  for  the  royal  house 
of  Babylon. 


XIV 
STRANGE    GODS* 

NERGAL-YUKIN'S  death,  the  circumstances  of 
it,  and  the  blatant  proclamation  of  these  things 
by  Belshazzar's  slaves,  facts  skilfully  manipulated 
by  Amraphel  and  his  order,  threw  all  Babylon  into 
an  uproar.  Naturally,  the  city  was  divided  into  fac 
tions.  The  priests  and  their  satellites  formed  a  suf 
ficiently  attractive  nucleus  to  draw  around  it  a  great 
body  of  the  common  people  whose  lives  at  best  were 
only  a  round  of  prayers  and  exorcisms;  while  all  the 
army,  that  feared  and  followed  Belshazzar  as  it  feared 
and  followed  no  god,  drew  to  itself  the  other  faction  of 
citizens  loyal  to  the  crown.  From  the  first,  however, 
the  priests,  who  counted  also  the  Jews  to  a  man  in 
their  party,  were  stronger  than  their  opponents.  And 
Amraphel,  moved  as  he  was  by  the  two  great  forces 
of  hate  and  overweening  ambition,  worked  early  and 
late  to  increase  his  majority.  He  seized  every  slight 
est  advantage,  manipulated  it  dauntlessly,  and  ex 
panded  it  incredibly.  His  final  interview  with  the 
prince  was  regarded  by  both  sides  as  a  declaration  of 
open  hostility ;  and  while  the  royal  party  was  now  ap 
parently  quiescent,  the  things  that  Amraphel  would 
not  do  to  win  over  to  his  side  a  single  man,  were  scarce 
worth  considering. 

While  Cyrus  and  Gobryas  with  their  invading  armies 
were  still  far  away  in  the  south  and  in  the  north  of 

*The  incident  of  Nabu-Nahid's  strange  gods  is  an  historical 
fact. 


STRANGE    GODS  351 

the  country,  nothing  that  would  precipitate  matters 
could  be  done  in  Babylon.  Indeed,  a  premature  re 
bellion  was  the  one  thing  that  could  save  the  Great 
City  to  her  lawful  rulers ;  and  no  one  in  the  city  knew 
this  better  than  its  high-priest.  It  was  for  this  rea 
son  only  that  Amraphel  had  failed  to  carry  out  his 
threat  with  regard  to  Belshazzar's  criers.  And  it  was 
also  for  this  reason  that  Belshazzar  had  so  openly 
and  so  recklessly  defied  his  enemy  at  their  last  meet 
ing.  Could  Amraphel  have  been  irritated  past  his 
self-control  and  so  forced  into  some  rash  act  that  would 
precipitate  the  rebellion  before  Cyrus  was  at  hand, 
the  contest  would  at  least  be  an  equal  one.  But  with 
Beltishazzar  at  his  elbow,  and  the  funds  of  the  house 
of  Egibi  at  Daniel's  command  and  Daniel's  command 
only,  there  was  no  chance  of  matters  coming  to  a  crisis 
before  their  appointed  time.  For  Daniel's  whole  soul 
and  mind  were  in  this  plot ;  and,  whatever  doubt  there 
might  be  about  the  soul,  it  was  quite  certain  that  his 
mind  was  no  ordinary  one. 

Amraphel's  most  telling  means  of  influencing  the 
common  people  was  by  temple  harangues.  Every  day, 
after  the  early  sacrifice,  a  priest  would  come  before 
the  throng  of  assembled  people  and  talk  to  them,  not 
of  their  duty  towards  the  gods  and  the  priests  of  the 
gods,  but  of  the  falseness  and  the  iniquity  of  the  royal 
house.  These  preachments  began  almost  immediately 
after  the  death  of  the  rab-mag,  the  tale  of  which,  with 
its  accompanying  moral,  was  worn  threadbare  in  order 
that  Belshazzar's  brutal  instincts  might  be  made  suf 
ficiently  plain  to  the  dense  minds  of  the  listening  com 
moners.  The  fact  that  Belshazzar  held  priestly  office 
and  a  priestly  title  was  of  no  consequence.  Indeed, 
it  became  a  subject  for  further  revilings.  Certainly 
it  could  not  be  denied  that  the  heir-apparent  was  ex 
tremely  lax  in  his  religious  duties.  Scarcely  one 
day  out  of  ten  did  he  appear  in  the  precincts  of  the 
temple,  much  less  officiate  at  sacrifice.  Without  doubt, 


352  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

the  gods  were  angry  with  him.  How  could  it  be 
otherwise? 

It  was  not  long  before  Belshazzar  began  to  feel  the 
breath  of  unpopularity.  When  he  drove  forth  into 
the  city  few  people  took  notice  of  him,  none  did  him 
reverence,  a  few  eyed  him  askance,  and  once  or  twice 
he  was  assailed  by  some  opprobrious  phrase.  He 
felt  rather  keenly  the  disfavor  of  the  people,  but  made 
no  attempt  to  remedy  the  matter.  He  knew  very  well 
the  direction  that  affairs  were  taking;  but  he  could 
do  nothing  but  bide  his  time,  and  at  night  keep  his 
eyes  from  the  future,  since  sleeplessness  brings  back 
to  no  man  his  wealth.  One  thing,  however,  the  prince, 
as  governor  of  the  city,  could  do,  under  the  general 
directorship  of  Nana-Babilu  at  Sippar.  He  could  keep 
the  guards  of  the  city  in  form,  and  this  he  did  well. 
There  were  at  this  time  about  ten  thousand  of  the 
regular  army  in  Babylon,  and  of  these  the  finest  were 
Belshazzar's  own  regiment,  under  command  of  Shapik- 
Zeri,  all  of  them  men  of  Gutium — the  province  of  which 
Gobryas  had  once  been  governor.  These,  the  best- 
trained  soldiers  in  Babylonia,  were  loyal  to  their  last 
drop  of  blood  to  their  lord.  Belshazzar  was  a  fine 
soldier,  iron-clad  in  his  rules,  and  known  to  be  himself 
fearless  on  the  field.  His  men  worshipped  his  phy 
sique,  feared  his  strength,  and  delighted  in  paying 
him  the  honor  and  obedience  that  he  would  otherwise 
have  exacted  by  force  of  arms.  Thus  Belshazzar  was 
seen  no  longer  in  the  goat-skin,  but  he  made  up  for 
the  deficiency  by  appearing  at  every  hour  of  the  day 
in  helmet  and  shield,  on  his  way  either  to  or  from  the 
great  parade  -  ground  where  the  daily  reviews  of  the 
various  regiments  were  held. 

It  was  about  this  time,  the  middle  of  the  month  of 
May,  that  Charmides  the  Greek  experienced  a  sudden 
disgust  for  his  position  in  the  temple  and  left  it,  plead 
ing  that  the  illness  of  his  wife  demanded  his  continued 
presence  at  her  side.  Unworldly,  improvident,  senti- 


STRANGE    GODS  353 

mental  as  his  move  was,  he  nevertheless  experienced 
a  great  relief  when  he  turned  his  back  for  an  indefinite 
period  on  the  great  House  of  Lies.  For  things  had 
been  done  there  that  the  young  Greek  could  not  think 
of  without  furious  gusts  of  anger  and  rebellion.  Be 
sides  this,  Ramua  was  ill,  wretchedly  ill,  as  the  result 
of  a  fall  that  had  caused  a  series  of  complications  over 
which  both  Charmides  and  Beltani  were  exceedingly 
anxious.  Still,  she  was  in  no  real  danger,  and  in 
spite  of  his  statement,  Charmides  did  not  spend  all  of 
his  hours  at  her  side. 

About  ten  days  after  his  leaving  the  temple,  Char 
mides  had  cause  of  rather  a  curious  nature  for  regret 
ting  that  he  was  no  longer  in  a  situation  to  know  the 
inner  aspects  of  certain  things.  A  proclamation  had 
gone  through  the  city  striking  astonishment  to  every 
heart,  and  to  none  more  than  those  of  the  priesthood. 
It  was  to  the  effect  that,  on  the  first  day  of  the  month 
of  Duzu,  twenty  new  gods  would  take  up  their  resi 
dence  in  the  Great  City. 

Poor  Nabu-Nahid,  reading  aright  the  threatening 
signs  of  his  own  and  his  son's  unpopularity,  believed 
that  the  time  had  come  for  his  great  act.  As  a  priest 
of  the  highest  order  he  was  empowered  to  command 
the  high-priest  of  every  temple,  with  the  exception  of 
Amraphel  alone,  that  he,  together  with  two  Enu,  two 
Asipu,  and  two  Baru,  should  form  part  of  the  great 
procession  of  strange  gods  when  these  entered  the  city. 
Moreover,  each  temple  was  to  be  especially  purified 
and  prepared  for  the  reception  of  a  new  statue,  and 
henceforth  double  services  must  take  place  in  each 
temple,  that  both  the  old  god  and  the  new  one  might 
be  properly  honored.  The  date  for  the  procession  was 
set  for  the  last  of  Sivan.  A  document  explanatory  of 
the  whole  matter,  and  signed  and  sealed  by  the  house 
of  Shamash,  was  sent  to  each  of  the  priests,  and  to 
every  monastery  of  Zicaru;  and  these  were  also  read 
aloud  in  the  temples  by  eunuchs,  till  all  Babylon 
23 


354  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

was  informed  of  the  king's  act,  and  all  Babylon  pre 
pared  for  the  holy  day. 

That  morning  dawned  like  every  other  morning  of 
the  season,  in  a  flush  of  fierce  crimson,  gradually  melt 
ing  into  the  living  gold  that  flooded  the  sky  with  a  f ur- 
nace  heat  and  poured  a  shower  of  burning  light  upon 
the  river  with  its  clinging  city,  and  over  the  yellow  des 
ert  far  beyond.  Holiday  had  been  proclaimed,  and  at 
an  early  hour  every  street  leading  to  a  temple  was 
packed  on  either  side  with  gayly  dressed  men  and 
women  and  their  children.  Charmides  went  alone. 
Ramua  could  not  walk,  and  Beltani  had  preferred 
remaining  with  her  to  standing  for  hours  in  the  glare 
of  the  sun,  waiting  for  the  procession.  Both  women, 
however,  had  begged  Charmides  to  go  and  see  it,  that 
he  might  describe  it  to  them  on  his  return.  Therefore 
the  Greek  took  up  his  position  on  the  edge  of  the  square 
of  Istar,  into  the  deserted  temple  of  which  the  old  and 
sacred  statue  of  the  goddess  of  Erech  was  to  be  carried 
first  of  all. 

The  crowd  here  was  especially  thick.  Only  by 
vigorous  pushing  and  squeezing,  and  some  very  rapid 
talking,  could  Charmides  find  a  place  for  himself. 
Having  reached  a  vantage-point,  however,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  fall  into  a  reverie  —  a  reverie  of  a  year 
ago,  when  he  had  stood  waiting  for  a  pageant,  an 
utter  stranger  to  the  city,  hungry,  friendless,  and 
homesick.  He  could  recall  every  trivial  incident  of 
the  day  with  ease,  from  Baba  and  the  goat's  milk 
she  gave  him,  to  the  long  afternoon  with  Ramua, 
now  for  nine  months  his  wife.  He  had  got  to  a  philo 
sophical  stage  in  his  dreams  when  a  light  hand  was 
laid  on  his  arm,  and  he  looked  up  to  find  Baba  at  his 
elbow.  He  was  glad  to  see  her,  glad  of  a  companion 
to  talk  to ;  and  so  they  two  watched  the  procession  to 
gether,  bent  to  the  dust  before  the  little  black  images 
dotting  the  line  in  twenty  places,  and  borne  each  on 
its  golden  platform  on  the  shoulders  of  six  eunuchs. 


STRANGE    GODS  355 

Nabu-Nahid,  in  white,  drove  first  of  all.  Behind  him, 
frowning  and  stiff,  and  in  anything  but  a  pleasant 
frame  of  mind,  was  Vul- Raman  in  his  car.  Belshaz- 
zar  came  farther  along  the  line,  standing  unconcern 
edly  in  his  place,  his  white  muslin. robe  falling  to 
his  feet,  the  goat-skin  fastened  over  his  left  shoulder. 
Everywhere  he  was  greeted  with  murmurs  of  disap 
proval  ;  but  though  he  could  hardly  have  failed  to  hear 
some  of  them,  his  face  gave  no  sign  of  it.  Quiet, 
immovable,  slightly  scornful  in  his  expression,  he 
endured  the  mental  and  physical  discomforts  of  the 
day  with  a  nonchalance  that  would  have  deceived 
Amraphel  himself. 

The  procession  left  the  little  temple  by  the  river- 
bank  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  broke  ranks 
in  the  square  of  the  temple  of  Marduk  just  at  sunset, 
with  the  last  ceremony  concluded — Nabonidus'  last' 
card  played.  Twenty  new  gods  would  watch  over 
the  city  that  night,  and  twenty  extra  sacrifices  would 
take  place  in  their  honor  on  the  morrow.  Perhaps 
it  was  as  well  that  Nabonidus,  in  his  pathetic  faith, 
should  not  have  heard  the  comments  of  the  tired  temple - 
servants  as  they  worked  through  the  night,  preparing 
for  the  next  day's  services.  Twenty  new  gods  asleep 
in  Babylon  —  twice  twenty  demons  at  work  in  the 
minds  of  men.  Could  the  outcome  of  the  fast-ap 
proaching  struggle  still  look  doubtful  to  any  reason 
able  thinker  whose  heart  was  on  neither  side? 

Belshazzar  and  his  father  drove  home  together 
from  the  square  of  Marduk.  Weary  as  he  was,  Nabu- 
Nahid  was  in  a  joyous  frame  of  mind.  He  talked  in 
cessantly  about  the  success  of  his  great  experiment. 
Secure  in  the  favor  of  Heaven,  he  could  easily  cast 
aside  all  fears  of  earthly  disfavor,  and  his  whole  per 
son  so  radiated  delight  that  Belshazzar's  mood  passed 
unnoticed,  his  expression  of  unhappiness  was  trans 
figured  by  the  sunset  glare  into  one  as  rapt  and  as 
joyous  as  his  father's  own. 


356  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

When  at  last  they  two  dismounted  together  before 
the  palace  gates,  Belshazzar's  heart  gave  a  great 
throb  of  relief.  He  had  that  day  felt  against  him  all 
the  hostility  of  that  Great  City,  and  though  they  were 
his  own,  and  he  should  be  called  upon  some  day  per 
haps  to  die  for  them,  yet  he  felt  a  sensation  akin  to 
hatred  for  all  the  people  whose  superstitious  and  piti 
fully  cringing  hearts  could  be  moved  by  the  priest 
hood  to  moods  and  beliefs  inimical  in  every  particu 
lar  to  the  hopes  and  plans  of  their  temporal  lords. 

Belshazzar  made  his  way  straight  to  his  private 
apartments  and  there  doffed  his  priest's  dress,  com 
manding  it  to  be  carried  out  of  his  sight,  and  vow 
ing  that  never  again  would  he  put  it  on.  Then  he 
donned  a  tunic  of  gray  cotton  cloth  and  took  his  way 
to  the  seraglio,  into  the  presence  of  Istar.  He  found 
her  sitting  on  the  broad  pile  of  rugs  and  cushions 
that  filled  half  her  living-room,  holding  the  child  in 
her  arms,  crooning  over  it  as  only  a  mother  can. 
She  welcomed  her  husband  with  eagerness,  however, 
showing  by  the  light  in  her  face  her  delight  in  his 
coming. 

"  And  do  these  new  gods  hold  not  their  high  places 
in  Babylon,  my  lord?"  she  asked,  when,  having  called 
for  food  and  wine,  he  threw  himself  down  beside  her. 

Belshazzar 's  answer  was  a  bitter  little  smile. 

"And  they  were  received  in  silence?  Tell  me  of 
the  image  that  was  put  up  into  the  shrine  of  Istar. 
Did  the  people  honor  it — did  they  praise  it  and  bow 
down  before  it?" 

"More  than  any  other  they  showed  it  honor.  Ah, 
my  beloved,  for  my  sake  the  people  hate  thee !  Know- 
est  thou  how  they  hate  me?  My  name  is  taught  to  be 
reviled  in  every  temple.  I  am  an  enemy  of  the  priests, 
therefore  am  I  mocked  in  the  high  places.  Istar — 
Istar — I  sometimes  dream  that  not  much  longer  shall 
I  and  my  father  dwell  in  our  Great  City."  He  spoke 
the  words  lingeringly,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  face. 


STRANGE    GODS  357 

Istar  answered  the  look  well.  Not  a  suggestion 
of  fear,  not  a  hint  of  dread  was  to  be  found  in  her 
smile.  And  while  her  hand  caressed  the  tiny  palm  of 
the  sleeping  child,  she  said,  quietly :  "  Whither  thou 
goest,  dear  lord,  there  I  will  go.  Unto  the  ends  of  the 
earth — and  beyond — I  will  follow  thee." 

"Istar!  Thou  art  happy  in  me?"  he  cried,  impul 
sively,  leaning  over  and  putting  his  hand  to  her  lips. 

The  smile  still  lingered  as  she  kissed  the  hand ;  and 
then,  taking  it  gently  away,  she  answered  and  said : 
"Happy —  Yea,  Belshazzar,  so  happy  that  I,  too, 
believe  that  our  earth-time  nears  its  end.  I  believe 
that  I  have  found  what  I  sought.  It  is  the  love  for 
his  fellows  lying  in  the  heart  of  every  man  that  binds 
him  to  the  greater  love  of  the  All-Father.  The  love 
of  one  for  another  sanctifies  every  life.  Thee  and  this 
— my  little  child — I  love." 

Belshazzar  looked  wistfully  upon  his  wife.  There 
were  times  when  she  was  too  far  above  him  for  his 
own  content.  Yet  in  her  words  there  was  always 
something  that,  vaguely  understood,  stirred  his  brain 
to  a  painful  effort  to  follow  her  to  her  height.  Now, 
as  if  he  would  hold  her  back  with  him,  he  took  both 
her  hands,  leaving  the  child  to  lie  in  her  lap  unheeded, 
and  asked,  with  a  change  of  tone :  "  Hast  thou  been 
alone  through  all  the  weary  day,  beloved?" 

"Nay,  Baba  of  Ribata's  house  and  Charmides  the 
Greek  came  here  together  to  me,  after  noon.  Thou 
knowest  the  Greek — him  whose  lyre  once  you  broke 
before  me." 

"Ay.     He  is  a  temple-servant." 

"  He  serves  no  longer  in  the  temple.  Out  of  loyalty 
to  us — to  thee  and  to  me — he  works  no  more  in  the 
statue  of  oracles,  nor  does  he  play  at  sacrifice." 

"Loyalty  to  me!"     Belshazzar  laughed  slightly. 

Istar  gave  him  a  quiet  look,  and  her  half-open  lips 
closed  again. 

"Art  thou  angered  with  me,  O  my  beloved,  for  be- 


358  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

ing  forever  jealous?  Istar!  Couldst  thou  but  know 
half  of  my  love!  If  thou  couldst  read  the  terror  in 
my  heart — the  terror  of  losing  thee  and  thy  love — " 

He  broke  off  quickly  as  the  eunuchs  brought  in  a 
table  covered  with  meat  and  wine.  It  was  placed  be 
fore  the  prince,  and  Belshazzar,  faint  with  his  long 
fast,  applied  himself  to  the  food  and  drink,  and  the 
intimate  little  passage  with  his  wife  was  finished. 

The  following  twelve  days  passed  quietly  in  the 
palace.  Belshazzar  withdrew  himself  absolutely  from 
city  affairs,  and,  beyond  going  daily  to  the  reviews 
and  drills  of  his  regiment  of  Guti  and  the  city  guards, 
he  never  passed  the  palace  gates.  Nabu-Nahid,  on 
the  other  hand,  worked  feverishly.  The  state  of  pub 
lic  affairs  was  beginning  to  trouble  him.  Five  da}^s 
after  the  procession  of  his  gods  he  was  obliged  to  ac 
knowledge  to  himself  that  his  great  hopes  for  their 
intercession  were  not  to  be  fulfilled.  Just  how  far 
Nabonidus'  blind  faith  went,  no  one,  not  even  himself, 
really  knew.  That  which  was  artistic  in  his  nature — 
and  he  was  no  mean  artist  at  heart — had  led  him  into 
the  pursuit  of  architecture  for  the  love  of  it.  A  passion 
for  things  of  antiquity  had  caused  him  to  explore  the 
deserted  ruins  of  many  a  crumbling  temple,  with  re 
sults  that  made  the  soul  of  the  seeker  after  knowledge 
tremble  with  delight.  Many  a  long -buried  library 
had  been  brought  by  his  efforts  into  the  light  of  day; 
and  the  religion  of  Accad  of  old,  with  its  heroic  tales, 
its  prayer-poems,  its  chronicles  of  war  and  the  chase, 
had  been  opened  to  his  eyes  and  to  those  of  the  scholars 
that  worked  with  him.  The  gods  of  other  days  had 
been  brought  forth  from  their  ruinous  shrines  and 
placed  in  newer,  brighter  homes.  And  after  these 
things,  it  somehow  seemed  to  him  that  a  reward  should 
be  forthcoming  from  his  country. 

But  when  Nabonidus  came  to  know  that,  at  the 
instigation  of  Amraphel,  the  new  gods  were  left  un- 
worshipped  in  their  shrines,  that  sacrifices  were  no 


STRANGE    GODS  359 

longer  offered  up  in  the  temples,  that  people  were  turned 
away  out  of  the  holy  places  with  the  word  that  the  great 
gods  were  angered  by  the  intrusion  of  these  others, 
that  none  of  them  would  heed  prayers  and  burnt-offer 
ings  till  the  strangers  were  removed  from  the  Sun- 
built  House,  then  the  heart  of  the  king  grew  sick  with 
in  him,  and  suddenly  he  came  to  a  realizing  sense 
of  the  power  of  the  priesthood.  Councils  were  held 
in  the  palace.  Lords,  chancellors,  judges,  and  officers 
from  every  department,  together  with  deputies  from 
the  provinces,  met  in  the  palace  and  were  presided 
over  by  the  king.  Plans  were  brought  up,  discussed, 
and  discarded.  There  was  only  one  thing,  apparently, 
to  be  done ;  yet  the  doing  of  it  would  involve  such  polit 
ical  cataclysms  that,  dangerous  as  was  the  position 
of  the  crown,  Nabu-Nahid  still  hesitated  to  force  Am- 
raphel  from  his  place. 

At  this  time,  when  Adar's  month  was  a  third  gone, 
came  news  of  a  great  battle  fought  in  the  south  coun 
try  around  Larsam,  between  the  troops  of  Cyrus  and 
the  defending  army,  resulting  in  the  victory  of  the 
invader  and  the  utter  rout  and  defeat  of  the  Chaldees. 
Before  the  news  of  this  could  have  reached  the  north 
country,  another  army — the  Persian,  in  command  of 
the  traitor-governor  Gobryas  of  Gutium,  Cyrus'  ablest 
general  —  had  gathered  about  Hit  to  begin  a  rapid 
southward  march  towards  Sippar,  by  way  of  Agade. 
The  meaning  of  this  movement  was  only  too  plain. 
Cyrus  and  Gobryas,  between  them  sweeping  Baby 
lonia  from  south  to  north,  would  come  together  for 
their  final  siege  before  the  walls  of  the  Great  City. 

This  plan  unfolded  itself  slowly  before  the  eyes  of 
the  king  and  his  council,  and  Gobryas  was  within 
two  days'  march  of  Sippar  before  Nabonidus  was 
fully  aware  of  the  danger.  Well  might  Amraphel 
and  Daniel  the  Jew  laugh  together  and  rejoice  at  the 
success  of  their  allies.  At  a  time  like  this,  what  re 
proof  for  neglect  of  the  gods  could  be  given  them  by  a 


360  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

king  threatened  with  such  certain  disaster?  A  month 
now,  at  the  outside,  and  Cyrus  would  be  at  the  gates 
of  Babylon.  By  then  the  long  labor  of  plotting  and 
of  treachery  would  be  over.  There  remained  only  the 
final  stroke,  now  preparing,  and  then  the  swift,  clean 
end. 

During  this  time,  while  Nabu-Nahid  seemed  to  be 
aging  a  year  a  day  under  the  pressure  of  difficulties 
that  he  was  too  weak  to  avert  or  to  overcome,  Bel- 
shazzar  was  living  a  life  of  careless  idleness  with  Istar 
and  his  child.  The  two  of  them  knew  that  the  time  of 
their  joy  of  love  was  nearly  over.  Both  were  unwilling 
that  anything  should  come  between  them  before  the 
inevitable  end.  How  it  was  that  Belshazzar  could  put 
away  all  trouble,  all  apprehension  of  the  future  from 
his  mind,  he  himself  did  not  know.  Perhaps  he  had 
been  under  the  spell  of  apprehension  for  so  long  that 
now,  when  the  dread  of  it  had  reached  his  father,  he 
was  empowered  to  straighten  up  and  put  down  his 
load,  till  he  must  pick  it  up  again  increased  in  weight 
a  thousandfold.  But  during  the  days  that  followed 
he  could  remember  his  first  two  weeks  of  summer  as 
a  foretaste  of  the  peace  eternal  of  the  silver  sky.  From 
dawn  to  dawn,  barring  those  two  noon  hours  when 
Istar  slept  and  he  rode  out  to  the  parade,  Belshaz 
zar  was  at  his  wife's  side.  Their  thoughts,  their 
dreams,  their  desires,  were  alike.  There  was  no  need 
to  talk  one  to  the  other.  The  mind  of  each  was  to 
the  other  as  a  written  tablet;  and  they  read  in  si 
lence,  clasped  each  in  the  other's  arms.  Istar  had 
become  very  tender,  very  clinging,  very  feminine  now. 
Those  periods  of  divinity  when  her  personality  became 
elusive  and  her  mind  attained  to  unfathomable  heights 
were  gone.  She  was  of  earth,  human  in  her  beauty 
and  in  her  frailty  of  physique,  radiant  only  with  an 
earthly  love.  It  was  Belshazzar  that  was  becoming 
transfigured  —  transfigured  through  his  love  for  her; 
for  his  passion  had  broadened  into  a  power  of  re- 


STRANGE    GODS  361 

nunciation ;  and  he  showed  the  woman  a  glorified  rev 
erence,  which,  beyond  her  to  conceive,  had  been  be 
yond  her  to  command. 

It  was  in  this  wise  that  their  twelve  days  passed; 
and  on  the  night  of  the  twelfth  of  June  Nabu-Nahid 
entered  unannounced  into  the  presence  of  his  son,  with 
the  decree  that  ended  Belshazzar's  dream  lying  written 
in  his  face. 

Istar,  dressed  in  robes  of  deep  crimson  silk,  girdled 
and  sandalled  with  gold,  lay  back  upon  her  divan, 
softly  singing  to  a  lute  that  she  played  herself.  The 
light  from  a4ianging-lamp  fell  over  her  figure  and  left 
the  rest  of  the  room  in  shadow.  In  this  shadow,  seated 
upon  an  ivory  chair,  was  the  prince,  holding  the  mur 
muring  child  fast  in  his  gentle  arms.  They  had  been 
thus  for  an  hour  when  the  interruption  came  and  Nabu- 
Nahid  entered,  bringing  with  him  the  atmosphere  in 
which  he  had  been  living  of  doubts  and  fears,  hates 
and  quarrels,  intrigues  and  treacheries,  and  dispelling 
instantly  the  love-dreams  of  youth. 

Nabonidus  was  not  yet  an  old  man  in  years;  but 
few  would  have  been  able  to  make  out  whether  it  had 
taken  fourscore  years,  or  five,  to  produce  his  peculiar 
appearance.  He  was  a  vision  of  white.  Hair,  skin, 
hands,  robes,  sandals,  all  were  white;  and  which  the 
whitest  one  could  not  have  told.  His  face  was  blood 
less,  and  resembled  a  piece  of  bleached  papyrus  which, 
having  lain  in  a  damp  place,  had  curled  up  into  a 
thousand  minute  wrinkles,  from  the  midst  of  which 
a  pair  of  dark,  dull  eyes  looked  wearily  forth.  These 
eyes  were  the  only  feature  that  one  much  regarded. 
The  others  sloped  insignificantly  into  the  pallid  plain 
of  the  cheeks.  And  Nabonidus'  whole  mood  was  ap 
parent  in  his  walk.  So  dragging,  so  weary,  so  de 
spondent  was  every  step,  that,  as  he  entered  Istar's 
room,  Belshazzar  shrank  back  from  his  presence  in 
involuntary  despair. 

Just  inside  the  door-way  the  king  stopped  and  looked 


362  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

about  him.  Istar  laid  down  her  lute  and  rose,  regard 
ing  the  intruder  with  quiet  apprehension.  Seeing  her, 
Belshazzar,  too,  came  forward  out  of  the  gloom,  hold 
ing  the  child  still  in  his  arms.  And  his  voice  first 
broke  the  silence. 

"Enter  thou,  my  father,  and  sit  down  with  us!" 

Istar  supplemented   the  words  with  a  little  gesture. 

Nabu-Nahid  listened,  looked  closely  at  his  son  and 
the  burden  in  his  arms,  and  then  turned  slowly  to  the 
woman,  gazing  at  her  for  a  long  time  before  he  spoke. 
"  And  thou  art  she — whom  we  worshipped,"  he  mur 
mured,  musingly. 

Istar  drew  back  a  little,  and  Belshazzar  took  two 
rapid  strides  forward.  "  Dost  thou  desire  speech  with 
me,  my  father?  Let  us  then  retire  to  my  apartments. 
There  we  will  talk." 

"  Twelve  days  hast  thou  been  sought  in  thy  apart 
ment;  twelve  days  hath  this  been  thy  abode.  Let  it 
then  be  mine  for  an  hour.  After  that  I  will  go  forth 
again — alone."  There  was  a  kind  of  strength  in  this 
last  word  that  sounded  strange  from  the  lips  of  the 
king,  and  to  which  neither  Belshazzar  nor  Istar  could 
find  any  reply. 

Istar  went  to  her  husband  and  took  the  child  from 
him,  saying,  softly :  "  I  will  leave  thee  here  and  go  into 
another  room.  Cause  thy  father  to  sit  and  talk  with 
thee.  And — if  there  is  need  of  thee,  I  pray  that  my 
lord  will  come  to  bid  me  farewell  before  he  goes."  Her 
voice  trembled  slightly,  and  as  she  lifted  her  eyes  to 
Belshazzar's  he  found  them  shining  with  tears. 

Her  husband  gave  her  the  child  and  would  have 
let  her  go;  but  Nabonidus  raised  his  hand. 

"  Let  her  take  the  child,  Belshazzar,  for  it  is  not  meet 
that  thou  shouldst  sit  as  a  nurse  of  infants.  But  as 
Istar  is  thy  wife  and  beloved  of  thee,  let  her  remain 
here,  that  ye  may  both  hear  my  last  words  concerning 
Babylon." 

"  Thy  last  words !"  cried  the  prince,  quickly. 


STRANGE    GODS  363 

"Yea,  for  I  am  come  to  bid  ye  both  farewell.  To 
morrow  I  go  up  to  Sippar,  which  is  threatened  with 
destruction." 

"Gobryas  is  there?" 

"To-night  he  lies  six  kasbi*  north  of  the  city." 

"But  Nana-Babilu  and  all  the  army  are  there. 
There  will  be  a  siege.  We  will  send  reinforcements 
from  Babylon.  Sippar  cannot  fall." 

For  the  first  time  in  many  years  Nabonidus  regarded 
his  son  with  something  akin  to  scorn.  "  In  the  twelve 
days  that  thou  hast  lain  hidden  here  many  things 
have  come  to  pass.  Sippar  is  in  revolt.  The  priests 
of  the  sun -college  have  incited  the  people  to  rebel 
against  my  rule ;  and  they  threaten  to  open  the  gates 
to  Gobryas.  Nana-Babilu  sends  me  messengers  to  say 
that  half  his  army  will  fail  him  when  it  comes  to  the 
battle.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  I  go  to  Sippar." 

Belshazzar  rose,  his  face  alight  with  eagerness. 
"  Not  thou,  0  king,  not  thou,  but  I,  will  go  up  to-mor 
row  into  the  city  of  the  north.  My  regiment  of  Gu- 
tium  shall  follow  me.  There,  with  those  men  alone,  I 
will  hold  Sippar  against  Gobryas — ay,  and  Kurush, 
too,  if—" 

"  Many  things  I  have  known  thee  do,  Bel-shar-utsur ; 
yet  boaster  wert  thou  never  before.  If  thou  know  it 
not,  my  son,  then  I  tell  thee  now,  for  it  is  well  that  thou 
shouldst  learn  it  from  my  lips,  Babylonia  hates  thee — 
for  thy  arrogance,  for  thy  strength,  for  thy  will,  for 
sacrilege  committed  often  against  the  gods;  above  all, 
for  thy  tyranny  over  the  priests.  If  thou  shouldst  set 
forth  to  Sippar,  thy  life  would  not  endure  a  single  day. 
And  the  regiment  of  Gutium  must  stay  in  Babylon.  It 
is  in  them  that  the  Great  City  puts  her  trust.  Thou, 
also,  as  governor  of  the  city,  must  be  here  to  lea$ 
them.  I  came  not  to  thy  presence  to  be  taught,  but 
rather  to  talk  with  thee  upon  thy  position  here." 

*  Fourteen  miles. 


364  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Belshazzar  stood  silent,  flushed  with  chagrin,  yet 
in  his  heart  acknowledging  the  truth  of  his  father's 
words.  Moreover,  there  was  in  his  father's  manner 
something  that  had  not  been  there  before.  Beset  as 
he  was  on  every  side,  Nabu-Nahid  had  suddenly  be 
come  a  king.  Istar  perceived  it  and  marvelled;  and, 
though  she  did  not  speak,  the  old  man  found  sym 
pathy  in  her  presence.  Belshazzar  forced  himself  at 
last  to  ask,  in  a  subdued  tone: 

"  Where  wilt  thou  go  in  Sippar,  0  my  father?  Into 
the  household  of  Nana,  or  to  the  river-palace?" 

"Neither  of  these  places.  I  shall  go  to  the  priests' 
college.  It  was  there  that  my  youth  was  spent.  Five 
years  ago  I  dwelt  there  through  the  summer.  When 
Nitocris  died,  I  went  there  after  the  month  of  wailing. 
It  hath  long  been  a  refuge  to  me.  I  will  seek  it  again. 
If  I  have  yet  any  power  in  the  world,  it  is  there  that  I 
shall  find  it." 

Belshazzar  nodded  thoughtfully.  He  recognized  the 
truth  of  his  father's  words;  yet  he  was  only  begin 
ning  to  realize  the  danger  of  this  desperate  journey.  It 
came  over  him  again,  in  a  vast  wave,  how  great  were 
the  straits  in  which  his  city  lay.  There  seemed  to  be 
nothing  for  him  to  say,  so  completely  was  his  father 
master  of  the  situation.  And  presently  Nabonidus, 
with  a  faint  sigh,  lifted  up  his  voice  again: 

"  Belshazzar,  thou  seest  surely  the  danger  that  all 
are  in.  Of  my  own  free  will  I  go  forth  to  Sippar;  yet 
I  have  little  thought  that  I  shall  return  thence  again. 
All  things  are  in  the  hands  of  the  great  gods.  If  it 
is  decreed  that  I  parish  at  the  hands  of  my  enemies, 
I  pray  only  that  Anu  will  hold  for  me  a  place  in  the 
silver  sky.  Through  seventeen  years  I  have  ruled 
over  the  Great  City,  and  in  that  time  I  have  never  will 
ingly  wronged  any  man.  Why  it  should  be  that  men 
wrong  me,  I  know  not ;  and  I  ask  not. 

"  Thou,  my  son,  art  trained  to  the  thought  of  ruling 
over  the  mighty  kingdom  of  the  Chaldees.  I  charge 


STRANGE   GODS  365 

thee  only  that  if  word  of  my  death  reach  thine  ears, 
rule  over  thy  people  and  mine  as  a  brave  king  and 
not  a  cruel  one.  In  the  years  to  come  let  thy  people 
look  to  thee  confidently  and  in  love.  Be  just  with  all; 
and  let  none  know  thee  in  hate. 

"  Thou,  Istar  of  the  skies,  who  hast  dwelt  as  a  god 
dess  in  the  holy  temple  of  E-Ana,  and  art  now  become 
a  princess  of  the  king's  house,  if  in  time  thou  art  made 
queen  of  Babylon,  let  not  thy  heart  beat  with  pride. 
Love  thy  king.  Bear  his  children  and  rear  them  in 
temperance  and  peace.  Open  thy  lips  to  no  words  of 
folly.  Unveil  thy  face  before  no  man.  Be  the  faithful 
servant  and  companion  of  him  who  holds  thee  dearer 
than  all  others.  And,  having  heard  my  bidding,  hold 
also  my  memory  in  reverence. 

"Behold,  I  have  said  my  say,  and  I  go  forth.  On 
the  morrow,  Belshazzar,  thou  wilt  be  master  in  the 
palace.  Take  up  thy  duties,  and  leave  the  child  to  its 
mother's  arms.  Now  Anu,  Ea,  and  Bel,  the  three  lords 
of  the  gods,  keep  our  fortunes,  our  lives,  and  our  hearts 
in  safety  evermore!" 

Nabu-Nahid  held  out  a  thin,  white  hand  to  each 
of  them,  Belshazzar  and  Istar,  his  children,  and  each 
of  them  pressed  it  reverently  to  brow  and  breast.  Then 
the  old  man  threw  the  corner  of  his  white  mantle  once 
more  over  his  shoulder,  and,  with  a  stateliness  born 
of  his  newly  royal  spirit,  departed  from  the  room. 

Istar  and  Beishazzar  saw  him  go  in  silence.  Their 
own  days  of  happiness  were  at  an  end;  but  he  who 
had  ended  them  had  given  them  both  the  desire  to 
meet  the  veiled  future  in  a  manner  worthy  of  their 
God  and  of  the  king  that  went  before. 


XV 
SIPPAR 

SIPPAR,  the  northernmost  city  of  Babylonia,  lay 
a  day's  journey  from  the  capital.  Although  five 
Sippars  could  have  been  placed  within  the  towering 
circuit  of  Nimitti-Bel,  and  room  have  been  left  for  Ur 
besides,  still,  thirty  thousand  people,  besides  Shamash 
the  sun -god,  made  it  their  home.  Nebuchadrezzar, 
the  great  king,  had  thought  it  a  town  of  no  little  im 
portance  ;  for  he  had  expended  upon  it  as  much  money 
as  the  treasury  held  and  his  conquered  nations  would 
give  for  tribute,  in  making  those  vast  reservoirs  and 
the  machinery  by  means  of  which  the  course  of  the 
river  Euphrates  could  be  turned  out  of  its  channel  and 
into  Sippar,  and  thence  sent  forth  into  a  thousand 
cross-country  canals,  leaving  the  river-bed,  for  the 
rest  of  its  southward  course,  as  dry  as  a  brick.  On 
account  of  these  vast  works  of  primitive  engineers, 
the  little  place  had  for  the  past  fifty  years  been  famous 
from  Agade  to  Terredou,  from  Kutha  to  the  desert; 
till,  from  being  a  dilapidated  mud-village,  its  pilgrim 
visitors  had  turned  it,  with  their  yearly  wealth,  into 
a  well-built  and  well-kept  city  clustered  round  three 
celebrated  buildings — the  astronomical  ziggurat,  the 
temple  of  the  sun,  and  the  college  of  the  Chaldees. 

These  last  could  be  grouped  under  one  head,  since 
all  three  of  them  were  ruled  by  one  master — not  Sha 
mash,  but  the  high-priest  of  Shamash,  the  first  astron 
omer  of  the  kingdom  and  the  president  of  this  college 
of  sciences,  and  these  combined  dignities  caused  him 


SIPPAR  367 

to  be  known  as  the  first  priest  in  the  kingdom.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  religious  house  and  its  attachments 
were  as  old  as — a  little  older  than — the  city  of  Sippar. 
Sun-worship  had  been  instituted  here  as  long  ago  as 
tradition  knew;  just  as  moon- worship  began  in  Ur, 
according  to  Berossus,  about  thirty  thousand  years 
before  the  day  of  the  Mighty  Hunter !  The  house  at 
tached  to  the  temple  for  the  purpose  of  training  its 
priests  had  gradually,  through  three  or  four  centuries, 
come  to  be  the^reat  school  of  education  for  the  priests 
of  all  Babylonia.  It  was  the  home  of  tradition  and  of 
sedition;  the  breeder  of  anti-monarchical  ideas,  the 
advocate  of  a  hierarchical  government.  Nabonidus' 
father,  a  member  of  this  college  and  high-priest  of  a 
Babylonian  temple,  having  married  the  daughter  of 
Nebuchadrezzar,  made  double  claim  to  the  throne  of 
Chaldea ;  and,  though  he  never  came  into  the  place  of 
his  mighty  father-in-law,  yet  his  son,  the  young  Nabu- 
Nahid,  educated  in  his  father's  college  and  eajly  ad 
mitted  to  the  priesthood,  was  brought  up  in  the  full 
belief  that  he  was  king  by  right  of  Heaven.  Five 
years  on  the  throne  had  changed  him  in  many  re 
spects.  Amraphel  had  come  down  from  Sippar  to  ad 
minister  to  Bel-Marduk,  and  to  keep  watch  over  the 
general  priesthood  and  the  ruler  of  the  Great  City; 
and  Nabu-Nahid  had  grown  more  accustomed  to  the 
crown  than  to  the  goat-skin.  Moreover,  the  education 
of  the  prince  royal  was  continued  along  very  unpriest- 
ly  lines.  Therefore,  though  the  king  had  never  en 
tirely  severed  his  connection  with  the  great  institution 
where  he  had  spent  his  youth,  his  attitude  towards  it 
was  indeterminate,  and  its  feeling  for  him  one  of  well- 
disguised  but  none  the  less  bitter  hostility. 

At  this  time  of  the  middle  of  June  in  the  seventeenth 
year  of  the  king's  reign,  Sippar  was  in  a  frenzy  of 
excitement.  The  town  was  filled  to  overflowing  with 
troops  assembled  a  month  ago  from  every  city  and 
village  within  a  radius  of  sixty  miles.  Nana-Babilu, 


368  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

commander-in-chief  of  the  army,  was  lodged  with 
Sharrukin,  governor  of  the  city;  and  these  two  men 
were  loyal,  heart  and  soul,  to  the  king.  As  a  conse 
quence,  they  were  also  bitterly  inimical  to  the  priest 
hood.  The  college,  on  the  contrary,  bristling  as  it 
was  with  full-fledged  priests  and  half-fledged  students, 
waited  to  give  Cyrus  himself,  or  Gobryas  by  proxy, 
a  royal  welcome.  The  men  of  the  army  were  divided 
into  factions.  As  for  the  rest  of  the  city,  it  was  a 
little  Babylon  in  its  general  uneasiness  and  disturb 
ance. 

Three  weeks  after  the  home  army  occupied  Sippar, 
came  word  of  the  rapid  advancement  of  Gobryas  from 
the  northeast;  and  the  town  was  hurriedly  prepared 
for  a  siege.  Finally,  on  the  night  of  the  thirteenth, 
the  arrival  of  two  despatches,  one  from  the  north,  the 
other  from  the  south,  brought  consternation  to  the  far- 
seeing  mind  of  Nana-Babilu,  and  a  dramatic  sense  of 
triumph  to  the  members  of  the  college.  As  the  news 
became  known  in  the  city,  the  town  quickly  took  on 
an  air  of  festivity.  The  night  was  lighted  by  bon 
fires.  The  streets  were  alive  with  people.  A  great 
clamor  of  singing,  of  shouting,  of  drinking,  and  gen 
eral  riot  rang  through  the  twisting  streets.  And  men, 
women,  and  children,  soldiers  and  citizens,  were  still 
up  and  dressed  in  holiday  garments,  when,  at  dawn 
on  the  morning  of  the  fourteenth  of  the  month, 
Nabu-Nahid  drove  in  at  the  southern  gate  of  the 
city. 

Sharrukin  the  governor,  Nana  -  Babilu,  and  Ludar 
Bit-Shamash,  the  sun-priest,  each  in  his  state  chariot, 
each  the  acme  of  stiff  courtesy,  came  together  at  the 
gate  to  greet  the  king  their  lord.  The  governor  and 
the  general  regarded  the  arrival  of  the  high-priest 
with  no  little  surprise  and  some  resentment.  Shar- 
rukin's  palace  had  been  carefully  prepared  for  the 
reception  of  the  royal  master;  and  his  chagrin  at  the 
idea  of  Nabonidus'  going  to  lodge  at  the  college  of 


SIPPAR  369 

the  Chaldees,  overcame  his  appreciation  of  the  policy 
and  the  daring  of  that  act. 

Nabonidus  came  attended  by  a  very  small  suite. 
He  had  travelled  from  Babylon  with  no  more  preten 
sion  than  any  petty  nobleman.  A  charioteer  drove 
him,  but  he  himself  held  his  umbrella  over  his  head. 
He  was  dressed  in  the  same  simple  white  robes  in 
which  he  had  bidden  his  son  farewell.  His  retinue 
consisted  of  two  chariots,  containing  his  secretaries 
and  his  favorite  slave,  while  a  group  of  six  horsemen 
followed.  His  manner,  on  arriving,  was  as  simple  as 
his  dress.  Seeing  Sharrukin  and  Nana-Babilu,  his 
mild  eyes  lighted  with  pleasure;  but  it  was  to  Ludar 
that  he  gave  his  first  greeting.  The  little  party  pro 
ceeded  slowly  through  the  principal  streets  of  Sippar 
on  its  way  to  the  college,  Nabonidus  and  Ludar  first, 
side  by  side  in  their  chariots,  the  governor  and  gen 
eral  just  behind.  Nabonidus'  manner  was  unemo 
tional,  rather  matter-of-fact.  Ludar  himself  never 
dreamed  how  closely  the  king  was  watching  the  ef 
fect  of  his  coming  on  the  people,  and  the  nature  of  his 
reception  by  them.  Certainly  his  path  was  thronged 
— and  by  townsmen  only.  The  soldiers  had  been 
ordered  to  their  barracks  and  were  not  to  appear  till 
the  afternoon's  review.  As  they  proceeded,  however, 
Nana  began  bitterly  to  regret  that  at  least  one  loyal 
regiment  had  not  been  scattered  among  the  people 
with  the  command  to  force  their  neighbors  into  giv 
ing  the  customary  loyal  greeting  to  the  king.  Si 
lence,  utter,  unbreakable,  significant,  reigned  over 
the  crowd.  A  thousand  black  eyes  were  every  moment 
fixed  unwinkingly  on  Nabonidus,  but  not  a  mouth  was 
opened  to  speak  a  welcome  to  him.  Here  and  there, 
indeed,  was  the  suggestion  of  a  muttered  threat  that 
came  quickly  to  the  ears  of  Ludar.  But  whether  the 
king  heard,  or,  hearing,  understood  these  expressions, 
no  one  could  tell. 

Shamash  was  scarcely  an  hour  up  the  sky  when 


370  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

the  four  chariots  and  the  little  guard  drew  rein  before 
the  gate  of  the  great  college,  and  Nabonidus  entered 
the  institution  between  two  long  lines  of  white-robed 
priests,  who  gave  the  salute  to  Patesi  when  he  passed. 

Nana  and  the  governor  left  their  lord  at  the  gate, 
with  the  understanding  that  they  should  return  to 
escort  him  to  the  review  of  troops  early  in  the  after 
noon.  Ludar  alone  accompanied  the  king  to  the  room 
assigned  to  him — the  room  in  which  he  had  passed 
his  youth — a  small,  oblong,  white-tiled  place,  with  a 
high  image  of  Shamash  at  one  end  of  it,  and  two  tiny, 
square  windows  high  in  the  opposite  wall.  A  narrow 
bed,  two  stools,  an  ivory  chair,  and  an  immovable 
table,  furnished  the  little  place;  and  the  king,  seeing 
it  again  after  some  years,  looked  about  him  with  a 
faint  smile  of  pleasure. 

"Is  it  pleasing  to  the  king  that  he  should  be  thus 
humbly  lodged?"  inquired  Ludar,  behind  him.  "Or 
will  he  choose  to  occupy  the  royal  apartments  that  are 
at  his  command?" 

"The  king,  Ludar,  is  no  less  a  king  because  he 
lives  humbly.  Let  this  pleasant  place  be  my  abode 
while  I  am  here." 

Ludar  wondered  for  a  moment  whether  the  king 
had  intended  the  double  meaning  in  his  words;  and, 
not  knowing,  he  yet  resented  the  possibility.  His 
voice,  however,  was  no  less  smooth  and  quiet  when 
he  said  again :  "  It  is  near  the  hour  of  sacrifice  in 
the  great  temple,  father  king.  Will  you  attend  it, 
or  is  it  fitting  that  you  sleep  after  the  journey?" 

Nabonidus  sighed  inaudibly,  but  his  eyes  never 
strayed  to  the  couch.  "  I  come  to  the  sacrifice,  Ludar. 
Yet  first  bid  them  bring  me  milk  from  the  goat  to  be 
offered  for  sacrifice,  for  I  need  refreshment  after  the 
weary  night.  Then  let  my  slave  bring  to  me  two  jars 
of  water,  that  I  may  make  my  ablutions,  removing 
from  my  body  the  dust  of  the  way  and  the  sand  blown 
up  from  the  desert.  Then  I  will  come  to  the  sacrifice." 


S I P  P  A  R  371 

Ludar,  unsuccessful  in  his  scheme  of  petty  torment, 
left  the  room,  smarting  under  the  indignity  of  being 
asked  to  carry  orders  to  a  slave — orders  that,  for  rea 
sons  of  policy,  he  could  not  disobey.  His  only  method 
of  revenge  was  to  prolong  the  sacrifice  for  two  weary 
hours,  while  Nabonidus,  faint  for  food  and  dropping 
with  weariness,  was  obliged  to  stand  over  the  sacri 
ficial  altar*  chanting  Sumerian  prayers  and  feeding 
the  flames  with  oil,  while  the  savory  goat's  flesh  slow 
ly  broiled  before  him. 

At  ten  o'clock,  however,  he  was  able  to  make  a  digni 
fied  retreat  from  his  religious  duties;  and  then,  reach 
ing  his  own  room,  and  putting  his  faithful  eunuch 
on  guard  at  the  door,  he  left  an  order  that  he  should 
be  awakened  only  on  the  arrival  of  Nana-Babilu, 
when  that  dignitary  came  to  escort  him  to  the  review 
of  troops.  This  would  be  about  two  hours  after  mid 
day;  and  until  that  time  Nabonidus  threw  himself 
down  upon  his  couch.  The  tired  eyelids  closed  over 
the  tired  eyes.  For  a  little  time  earth-troubles  faded 
from  him,  while  in  his  dreams  the  beloved  dead  were 
restored  to  him  again. 

When  he  awoke,  Nana  was  at  his  side,  looking  down 
at  him  solemnly,  his  arms  folded  across  his  breast. 
The  king  started  up,  annoyed  at  having  been  left 
undisturbed  for  so  long.  The  room  was  wrapped  in 
twilight,  and  the  face  of  the  visitor  was  in  shadow. 
Something  in  his  general's  manner,  or  perhaps  in  his 
attitude,  caught  Nabonidus'  attention,  and  presently, 
having  risen  from  his  couch,  he  said,  tentatively: 

"You  are  late — very  late,  Nana.  Evening  is  upon 
us.  Surely  the  review — " 

"There  was  no  review,  Nabu-Nahid,  my  lord.  I 
bade  thy  servant  not  disturb  thy  rest.  There  was  no 
need.  I  came  to  quiet  thy  fears — if,  indeed,  there  is  fear 
in  thee.  Yet  Chaldea  knows  thy  race  for  a  brave  one.'"' 

"Speak,  Nana — speak!  These  words  of  thine  come 
strangely  to  me.  Or  do  I  dream?" 


372  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Nana  smiled  grimly.  "There  is  no  dream  in  this, 
O  king,  that  Gobryas  and  his  army  of  Medes  and 
Persians  are  encamped  before  the  city,  and  that  half 
my  troops  refuse  to  obey  my  commands." 

Nabonidus  went  back  to  his  couch  and  seated  him 
self  on  the  edge  of  it.  "  At  what  hour  did  the  enemy 
come?"  he  asked,  quietly. 

"  At  four  hours  after  sunrise,  about  the  time  for  the 
close  of  the  sacrifice,  they  were  observed  by  the  men 
in  the  north  watch  -  towers.  They  marched  around 
the  city,  out  of  the  reach  of  arrows,  and  are  now  en 
camped  before  the  south  gate." 

"  And  there  has  been  no  move  to  draw  them  into 
battle?  There  has  been  no  sortie?  The  old  form  of 
war — " 

Nana-Babilu  bent  his  head  upon  his  breast,  and  all 
of  a  sudden  Nabonidus  came  to  himself  and  realized 
their  situation.  Before  the  slow,  orderly  procession 
of  thoughts  that  passed  through  his  mind  he  did  not 
lower  his  head  nor  take  his  eyes  from  the  form  of  his 
general.  After  a  little  while  he  rose  again,  without 
any  appearance  of  agitation,  crossed  the  room,  pushed 
aside  the  curtain  of  the  door,  and  gave  certain  orders 
to  the  statue-like  eunuch  who  waited  before  it.  Then, 
returning,  he  sat  down  in  the  ivory  chair  to  wait,  while, 
in  obedience  to  a  gesture,  Nana  took  one  of  the  tabou 
rets  at  a  little  distance  from  the  bed.  Then  the  two 
men  sat  together,  waiting  silently.  Presently  a  slave 
entered  the  room  bearing  two  lighted  lamps,  which 
he  hung  upon  their  accustomed  hooks  in  the  wall. 
In  the  new  light  the  king  turned  to  his  officer. 

"When  have  you  eaten?"  he  said,  kindly. 

"A  little  before  dawn  to-day,  lord,"  was  the  reply. 

"Bring  thou  food  and  wine  for  both,  then,"  com 
manded  the  king;  and  the  eunuch,  bowing,  left  the 
room. 

When  they  were  alone  Nana's  figure  drooped  back 
into  its  place;  but  the  king,  with  a  sudden  nervous 


SIPPAR  373 

spasm,  got  up  and  began  jerkily  to  pace  the  room. 
The  general's  eyes  followed  his  movements  question- 
ingly,  but  for  some  moments  Nabonidus  did  not  speak. 
Then,  very  suddenly,  so  that  his  companion  started, 
he  burst  out: 

"Thou,  too,  Nana!  Thou,  too,  Nana-Babilu!  Dost 
thou  also  betray  me?" 

"My  lord!"  The  commander  sprang  to  his  feet. 
"My  lord!"  he  said  again. 

"Tell  me  truly,  tell  me  plainly,"  went  on  the  king, 
tumultuously,  "is  there  left  in  my  kingdom  one  man 
that  I  dare  trust?  Is  there  still  one  that  I  know  to 
be  true?" 

Nana-Babilu  looked  at  his  king  straightforwardly, 
grimly,  honestly.  "My  life  belongs  to  the  kingdom, 
to  thy  house,"  he  said.  "And  in  my  ranks  of  men 
there  are  many  to  be  trusted.  But  there  are  also  those 
that  have  taken  the  bribes  of  Ludar  and  the  college. 
Therefore  the  true  from  the  false  among  my  own  I 
cannot  tell.  How  many  there  are  of  the  one,  how 
many  of  the  other,  I  do  not  know.  When  it  is  neces 
sary  we  will  strive  with  our  lives  to  defend  the  city; 
but  how  it  will  go  with  us,  only  the  great  gods  know." 

Nabonidus  heard  him  and  sighed.  He  could  not 
but  believe  this  man,  this  friend,  this  faithful  servant 
of  his;  and  his  moment  of  passion  was  over.  As  he 
came  back  to  his  chair  three  slaves  entered  the  room, 
bringing  with  them  trays  of  food  and  a  jar  of  wine. 
These  were  placed  on  the  fixed  table,  and  a  light  couch 
was  brought  in  and  set  before  it  for  the  king.  Nana 
was  supposed  to  sit  in  his  lord's  presence.  When 
at  length  the  slaves  had  been  dismissed,  Nabonidus 
lay  down  at  table  with  an  air  of  mild  pleasure  at 
which  Nana  stared  a  little.  Nabonidus  had,  indeed,  a 
reputation  for  courage  principally  because  of  the  apa 
thetic  manner  that  invariably  came  to  him  in  times 
of  real  stress.  And  yet  Nabonidus  realized  to  the  full 
the  gravity  of  his  position. 


374  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"  Nana,"  and  there  was  the  shadow  of  a  smile  in  the 
king's  face — "Nana,  if  it  comes  that  the  city  should 
fall,  how  wilt  thou  defend  me  from  the  blood-thirsty 
Gobryas?" 

"0  King,  I  would  have  spoken  with  thee  on  this 
matter,  for  thou,  like  all  those  in  Babylonia,  art  in 
great  danger.  If  Gobryas  knows  that  thou  art  in 
Sippar  the  city  will  surely  be  assaulted,  and  will  as 
surely  fall.  Therefore  it  is  Sharrukin's  wish,  and 
mine,  that,  for  thine  own  sake,  thou  shouldst  leave 
Sippar  secretly  as  soon  as  possible — to-night,  if  thou 
wilt.  A  disguise  may  be  sent  here  to  thee.  Thine 
own  guard  shall  follow  thee ;  and  I  think  thou  canst 
still  take  the  road  to  Babylon  without  undue  risk. 
But  if  thou  wait — wait  till  Gobryas  learns  thy  pres 
ence  here — thou  and  Sippar,  ay,  and  thus  Babylonia, 
are  lost." 

"I  and  Sippar,  but  not  Babylonia,  Nana.  Bel- 
shar-uzzur  rules  over  the  Great  City  now,  and  he  is 
stronger  than  I.  He  will  make  a  good  king  for  this 
troubled  land.  For  me  —  £hu!  I  am  full  of  years, 
and  weary  —  weary  for  the  silver  sky.  Matters  it 
greatly  how  soon  I  go?  Nay!  Speak  no  more  of  it. 
I  forbid  it,  and  I  am  the  king.  Tell  Sharrukin  that  1 
remain  in  Sippar — until  the  end." 

Nana,  daring  to  say  no  more,  looked  regretfully 
into  the  faded  eyes  of  the  old  man  before  him.  Of 
every  one  that  he  had  ever  known,  Nabonidus  was 
the  last  whom  he  would  have  expected  to  take  this 
attitude.  But  eddying  shallows  sometimes  hide  treas 
ures  as  rare  and  as  beautiful  as  those  that  lie  in  the 
deep,  smooth-flowing  waters  of  greater  streams.  This 
little  pearl  of  courage,  then,  was  not  less  admirable  be 
cause  it  was  the  treasure  of  a  brook  rather  than  of  deep 
river  or  the  sea.  And  Nana  tried  no  more  to  persuade 
the  king  to  leave  Sippar,  though,  indeed,  he  felt  what 
the  end  must  be. 

The  conversation,   when  it  revived  between  them, 


SIPPAR  375 

strayed  away  into  winding  paths,  through  Nabo- 
nidus'  fads  of  poetry,  archaeology,  a^nd  architecture,  to 
the  inevitable  highway  of  priestcraft.  With  this  road 
Nana  was  as  familiar  as  the  king,  knowing  more  of  its 
detail  in  this  part  of  the  land  than  his  master. 

"  Let  it  f>e  forgiven  that  I  ask  of  thee  a  question,  O 
king!  Hast  thou  faith  in  thy  safety  in  this  house? 
Dost  thou  believe  that  Ludar  may  be  trusted  to  keep 
thy  person  from  harm?" 

Nabonidus  looked  at  his  companion  thoughtfully. 
"  To  this  house  I  came,"  he  said,  "  because  I  would 
have  defied  its  dwellers.  Now,  indeed,  that  Gobryas 
is  before  the  city,  my  safety  is  not  assured.  Yet  here 
I  will  remain." 

"Ludar — knows  he  that  I  am  here?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  Let  us  call  Ludar  hither,  Nana, 
and  speak  with  him  of  Gobryas." 

"Thou  wilt  never  read  Ludar's  mind  by  his  words, 
0  king.  Yet — let  him  be  summoned." 

"Kudashu!"  shouted  the  king,  accordingly,  and 
at  the  cry  the  waiting  eunuch  came  quickly  in.  "  Ku 
dashu,  bear  word  to  the  priest  Ludar  that  I  would  talk 
with  him.  Let  him  return  with  thee  here." 

There  was  a  prostration  and  an  exit,  and  then  si 
lence.  Neither  the  king  nor  Nana  said  anything  till, 
ten  minutes  later,  the  slave  returned  alone. 

"  Ludar  follows  thee?"  asked  Nabonidus,  quickly. 

"May  the  king  regard  me  with  favor  —  Ludar  is 
not  in  the  college.  He  is  gone  forth  into  the  city,  none 
knows  why." 

The  man  was  dismissed  with  a  nod,  and  the  two 
were  left  alone  again.  Presently  Nana  rose  and  made 
his  obeisance. 

"  Lord  king,  I  must  go  forth.  The  hour  is  late, 
and  I  have  not  yet  numbered  the  night-guards.  Be 
fore  I  go — let  it  please  thee  to  take  up  thy  abode  from 
to-morrow  in  the  palace  of  Sharrukin.  Everything 
there  was  prepared  for  thee.  Here,  with  Ludar,  thou 


376  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

art  not  safe.  If  thou  wilt  not  escape  from  Sippar, 
come  thou  and  take  up  thy  dwelling  with  those  that 
regard  thee  with  loyalty  and  devotion."  Nana  was 
not  an  emotional  man,  but  the  feeling  in  these  words 
was  genuine,  and  Nabonidus  was  touched. 

"  The  gods  send  thee  peace  of  heart,"  he  said,  gently. 

"My  lord  king  will  not  come?"  persisted  the  sol 
dier. 

Nabonidus  shook  his  head  with  a  faint,  stubborn 
smile,  and,  a  moment  later,  he  was  alone.  For  some 
time  after  his  general's  departure  the  king  sat  looking 
vaguely  into  space,  his  lips  straightening  more  and 
more  and  the  lines  round  his  mouth  growing  stern. 
Presently  the  eunuch  glided  quietly  into  the  room 
and  took  up  his  position  by  the  door,  standing  there 
as  he  was  trained  to  do  when  the  king  was  alone. 
Nabu-Nahid  regarded  him  reflectively  for  a  moment 
and  then  said: 

"  Kudashu,  Ludar  and  Nana  are  gone  into  the  city. 
I  also  will  go.  Bring  to  me  my  mantle,  and  come 
thou  behind  me.  I  will  behold  Sippar  by  night." 

Kudashu  obeyed  promptly,  but  a  few  seconds  later, 
as  the  king  was  donning  his  white  coronet  and  cloak, 
he  ventured  to  say:  "0  king,  live  forever!  Let  me 
summon  for  thee  some  of  the  soldiers  of  thy  guard, 
that  they  may  follow  thee  on  thy  way." 

"Is  thy  body  weary,  Kudashu?" 

"Nay,  lord  my  king;  but  my  arms  are  weak  to 
strike  for  thee." 

"By  Ninip!  is  the  whole  world  waiting  to  slay  me? 
Stay  thou  here,  then,  with  thy  arm,  weak  one!  I 
will  go  alone." 

"  Nay,  nay,  father  of  Babylon !  I  go  gladly.  Yet, 
fearing  for  thy  safety,  I — " 

"  Be  silent,  foolish  one.  I  go  alone.  Behold,  I  have 
spoken.  It  is  my  will." 

And  in  the  face  of  plea,  protest,  and  remonstrance, 
go  forth  alone  Nabonidus  did,  into  the  city  of  Sippar. 


S I P  P  A  R  377 

The  streets  were  quiet.  Early  though  it  was,  lack 
ing  yet  two  hours  to  midnight,  few,  towns-people  were 
moving  about.  A  general  weariness  had  followed  the 
merry-making  of  the  past  night,  and  this,  added  to 
the  feeling  of  solemnity  attendant  on  the  actual  arrival 
of  the  long-expected  invading  army,  had  closed  the 
doors  of  many  a  house  at  an  unwonted  hour,  and  caused 
citizens  of  an  ordinarily  convivial  temperament  to 
betake  themselves  to  an  early  couch.  Most  of  those 
abroad  in  the  streets  were  soldiers,  on  their  way  to  or 
from  the  watch-towers.  It  was  a  curious  condition 
for  the  first  night  of  a  siege,  and  Nabonidus  could 
not  but  wonder,  as  he  proceeded,  at  the  extraordinary 
calm  of  the  people;  for  he  had  known  many  a  belea 
guered  city,  but  never  one  that  presented  a  spectacle 
of  such  quiet  on  its  first  night  of  defence. 

The  night  was  fair,  and  with  the  coming  of  dark 
ness  there  had  sprung  up  a  faint  breeze  that  came 
from  the  east,  across  two  rivers,  bearing  with  it  a  breath 
of  cooling  fragrance.  The  moon  was  just  past  its 
second  quarter  and  hung  suspended,  in  a  soft,  golden 
aureole,  over  the  western  walls  of  the  city.  By  its 
light  the  houses  and  towers  of  the  town  stood  out  in 
wavering  outlines  against  the  grayish,  star-strewn 
sky.  The  stillness  that  wrapped  the  city  trembled, 
when,  occasionally,  it  was  pierced  by  a  distant  shout 
of  laughter  or  a  command  called  out  by  one  of  the 
guards  on  the  walls. 

Nabonidus  went  on  and  on,  unheeding  the  distance 
that  he  traversed,  allowing  himself  to  be  permeated 
with  the  night.  The  spotless  white  of  his  robes 
caused  him  to  be  taken  for  a  priest  by  the  few  whom 
he  passed.  None  offered  to  molest  him.  None  gave 
him  more  than  a  fleeting  glance  as  he  went  along. 
After  what  he  could  hardly  realize  had  been  an  hour 
of  walking,  he  found  himself  standing  before  the  great 
south  gate  of  the  city,  through  which  he  had  come 
that  morning.  It  was  closed  now,  and  guarded  with 


ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

soldiers,  some  of  whom  stood  or  lay  on  the  ground 
before  it,  while  others  could  be  seen  on  top  of  the  wall, 
walking  to  and  from  the  watch-tower,  whence  the  con 
fused  camp  of  Gobryas'  army  could  be  made  out  across 
the  plain.  No  hostility  had  as  yet  passed  between 
besieged  and  besiegers.  Not  an  arrow  had  been  shot, 
not  a  javelin  hurled. 

The  king  stood  off  at  a  little  distance  from  the  gate, 
reflecting  on  the  scene  before  him.  Presently  there 
came  a  shout  from  some  one  outside  the  gate,  a  word 
that  was  heard  and  answered  from  inside.  There  was 
a  question  from  the  captain  of  the  watch,  to  which 
an  answer,  inaudible  to  Nabonidus,  was  returned. 
Then  the  small  door  in  the  gate  opened.  A  figure  ap 
peared  from  outside,  and  at  sight  of  it  Nabonidus 
moved  swiftly  back  into  the  shadow  of  the  wall.  The 
door  was  closed  and  barred  again.  He  who  had  come 
in  paused  to  place  something  in  the  hand  of  one  of 
the  soldiers.  Then,  without  a  word,  he  moved  rapidly 
off  in  the  direction  from  which,  a  little  while  before, 
the  king  had  come.  Nabonidus  stared  after  him  for 
a  moment.  His  thoughts  were  in  a  whirl.  Consider 
ing  all  that  he  had  known  before,  this  incident  had  an 
unnecessarily  strong  effect  on  him.  It  was  only  by 
means  of  a  physical  effort  that  he  finally  pulled  him 
self  together  and  started  on  his  return,  a  hundred  paces 
back  of  that  other.  In  this  fashion  the  two  traversed 
the  length  of  the  city,  arriving  at  the  college  of  the 
Chaldees  in  the  same  relative  positions  as  those  in 
which  they  had  started. 

When,  a  few  minutes  after  midnight,  the  king  re- 
entered  the  building  and  turned  up  the  passage  lead 
ing  to  his  room,  he  found  Ludar,  wrapped  in  a  gray 
cloak,  standing  in  the  door-way  talking  with  Kudashu. 
He  hailed  Nabu-Nahid's  appearance  rather  effusively. 

"0  king,  live  forever.     What  imprudence   does   he 
commit   that    wanders  abroad   at    night  in   the 
streets!" 


S I  P  P  A  R  379 

"  And  thou — wast  thou  guarded  on  thy  way?"  in 
quired  the  king,  rather  sharply. 

"Nay,  truly.  But  for  me  there  is  no  danger.  I 
am — " 

"You  say  well,  Ludar.  For  you,  indeed,  there  is 
no  danger!  Shamash  guard  your  sleep!"  And  with 
this  curt  good -night,  Nabonidus  brushed  past  the 
priest,  closed  the  curtain  of  his  room,  flung  off  his 
mantle  and  coronet,  and  threw  himself  down  upon  the 
chair  that  still  stood  before  the  brick  table.  He  was 
in  a  state  of  tremulous  anger,  of  discouragement,  of 
heart-sickness,  and  his  head  drooped  lower  and  lower, 
and  his  hands  clasped  themselves  on  the  table  before 
him  in  the  tightness  of  mental  pain.  The  light  from 
the  still  burning  lamp  above  his  head  fell  over  his  white 
figure,  and  a  ray  of  it  glinted  off  a  jewel  that  hung  on 
a  thin,  golden  chain  from  his  neck.  A  refracted  ray  of 
this  presently  shone  in  his  eye  and  caused  him  to  look 
down  upon  the  gem  that  he  was  accustomed  to  wear 
inside  his  tunic,  next  his  skin.  It  was  a  charm — a 
holy  charm,  blessed  and  consecrated  to  be  a  sure  pro 
tection  against  all  bodily  disease  or  danger.  In  some 
way,  the  fact  that  it  came  to  his  sight  now,  unexpected 
ly,  seemed  an  omen  of  good-fortune ;  and  with  a  brow 
less  clouded,  the  old  man  rose,  took  the  jewel  in  his 
hands,  and,  falling  on  his  knees  before  the  image  of 
the  sun-god  in  his  room,  poured  forth  a  piteous  prayer 
for  rest  and  peace.  And  the  sun -god  heard  him 
doubly  well. 

It  was  not  till  early  dawn  began  to  peer  from  the 
east  that  the  great  king,  seeking  his  narrow  couch, 
dropped  into  an  untroubled  sleep. 

The  following  day,  the  fourteenth  of  the  month, 
was  a  busy  one.  Nabonidus  again  conducted  the 
sacrifice.  Then  he  returned  to  the  college  and  spent 
two  or  three  long  hours  with  a  class  of  acolytes  of 
the  highest  order  of  embryonic  priesthood.  The  noon 
meal  he  partook  with  Ludar,  and  immediately  after- 


380  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

wards  was  driven  in  his  chariot  to  the  house  of  Shar- 
rukin,  where  the  afternoon  passed  quickly  in  a  coun 
cil  over  military  affairs. 

It  was  half  an  hour  to  sunset  when  the  king  returned 
to  his  room  in  the  college  and  commanded  his  evening 
meal.  He  was  drooping  with  fatigue,  as  the  result 
of  his  short  night  and  his  crowded  day.  Kudashu, 
therefore,  was  ordered  to  refuse  admittance  to  any  one 
that  should  seek  audience  with  the  king  that  night. 
After  a  change  of  garments,  a  bath,  and  more  prayers 
to  Shamash,  the  king  lay  down  on  his  couch,  much 
refreshed  in  body  and  mind,  and  eager  for  the  food 
that  was  presently  brought  him.  He  ate  in  the  twi 
light,  for  that  hour  of  the  day  always  brought  calm  to 
his  spirit,  and  even  at  the  close  of  the  meal,  when  the 
room  was  nearly  dark,  he  still  refused  lights,  but  lay, 
immovable  and  alone,  with  the  ghost  of  the  dead  day 
whose  golden  bier  had  been  borne  across  the  shadowy 
threshold  of  the  night. 

Gradually  the  king  sank  into  a  profound  and  vividly 
imaged  reverie.  His  thoughts  went  back  into  many 
long-past  scenes  of  his  youth  and  young  manhood; 
and,  as  he  afterwards  remembered,  the  last  of  these 
was  something  apart  from  his  own  life.  In  the  twilight 
there  rose  before  him  clearly  and  distinctly  the  room 
in  which  he  had  said  farewell  to  his  son.  Here,  under 
the  glow  of  the  hanging-lamp,  clad  in  her  crimson 
and  gold,  with  the  veil  of  black  hair  drawn  back  from 
her  face,  was  Istar  of  Babylon,  Belshazzar's  wife.  Be 
side  her,  transformed  by  the  new  power  of  his  life  and 
love*  was  the  storm-eyed'  prince,  holding  Istar's  in 
fant  in  his  arms.  Nabonidus'  eyes  looked  again  into 
those  of  his  son,  and  found  there  something  that  now 
only  he  understood.  A  smile  stole  over  the  childlike 
face  of  the  old  man.  Belshazzar  had  found  a  heart- 
home.  Belshazzar  was  a  king  in  spirit.  What  mat 
tered  it  how  soon  in  truth?  The  vision  grew  brighter 
still,  till  the  three  figures  were  aureoled  with  a  divine 


SIPPAR  381 

light.  Istar  spoke  to  her  husband,  held  out  her  arms 
for  the  child.  Then  suddenly  there  came,  from  the 
passage  outside  the  door,  a  low  murmur  of  voices  and 
a  quick  cry.  The  vision  crumbled.  Nabonidus  started 
up.  His  ears  were  pierced  by  the  sound  of  a  shrill 
scream,  and  the  words  spoken  by  Kudashu:  "My 
lord!  My  king!  Save  thys — "  Then  came  a  heavy 
thud  as  of  a  body  fallen,  and  Nabu-Nahid  leaped 
to  his  feet  as  three  men  burst  into  the  room. 

Two  of  them  were  soldiers  in  armor.  The  third, 
who  carried  a  lighted  torch,  was  in  the  garb  of  a  priest. 
It  was  Ludar,  the  president  of  the  college. 

"  How  do  ye  thus  enter  my  presence?"  demanded 
Nabonidus,  glaring  about  him  wrathfully. 

Ludar  shot  a  sharp  glance  at  him,  and  the  hands 
of  the  soldiers  tightened  on  their  dripping  pikes. 

Nabonidus'  question  was  fully  answered,  and  he 
asked  no  more ;  but  his  manner  did  not  change.  Per 
haps  he  drew  himself  up  a  little,  became  a  little  more 
royal,  a  little  more  angry,  a  little  brighter  of  eye,  a 
little  whiter  of  face.  The  soldiers  stood  mute  and 
motionless,  waiting  evidently  for  their  next  move  to  be 
ordered  by  Ludar,  their  leader.  He,  after  a  moment 
or  two,  nodded  to  them. 

"Do  what  is  commanded  to  be  done/'  he  said. 

In  a  breath  Nabonidus  of  Babylon  lay  on  his  back 
on  the  floor,  while  the  two  soldiers  worked  to  bind  him 
about  with  heavy  thongs  till  he  was  unable  to  move 
so  much  as  a  ringer  alone.  Lastly  the  gag  was  put 
upon  him;  but  there  was  no  heed  of  it.  During  the 
whole  business  the  old  man  remained  perfectly  pas 
sive,  perfectly  still,  gazing  steadily  up  into  the  face 
of  Ludar,  who  presently  refused  to  meet  his  glance, 
though  he  could  not,  in  that  small  room,  get  out  of 
range  of  the  pale,  fixed  eyes. 

When  their  captive  was  perfectly  secure,  the  soldiers 
lifted  him  in  their  arms  and  carried  him  roughly  out 
of  the  room,  past  the  bloody  body  of  Kudashu,  along 


382  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

the  silent  passage  and  out  into  the  night,  where,  be 
fore  the  door  of  the  college,  waited  a  cart,  one  of  the 
rude  vehicles  of  the  common  people,  drawn  by  a  water- 
buffalo.  Into  this  lowliest  of  all  conveyances  the 
king  was  lifted  and  laid  down.  There  was  a  word 
of  command  from  the  soldier  that  clambered  in  beside 
him.  The  driver  gave  a  long  shout,  and  the  cart 
clattered  away  from  the  door  of  the  college  in  which, 
with  his  still  burning  torch,  stood  white-robed  Ludar, 
left  alone  with  his  triumph. 

As  they  went  along,  the  king,  his  gaze  turned  up 
ward  to  the  sky,  could  see  nothing  of  what  was  hap 
pening  in  the  streets  around  him.  But  that  something 
unusual  had  occurred  was  only  too  apparent,  and  what 
that  something  was,  was  not  difficult  to  surmise.  The 
city  was  filled  with  soldiers,  half  of  them  in  the  uniform 
of  the  Babylonish  guards,  and  half  of  them  in  the 
dress  of  those  that  had  entered  the  presence  of  the 
king.  Yet  there  was  very  evidently  no  hostility  be 
tween  them.  Men,  women,  and  children  were  also 
in  the  streets,  the  last  making  an  especial  clamor  over 
this  unexpected  holiday  night.  Here  and  there  bon 
fires  burned  in  the  heat.  In  every  direction  torches  flit 
ted  through  the  moonlight.  And  still  to  the  strained 
ears  of  the  king  came  not  one  sound  of  combat,  no 
single  clash  of  swords  or  whistling  of  stones  from  the 
sling.  No.  Sippar  had  fallen,  had  fallen  to  Elam, 
without  blood,  without  a  suggestion  of  defence,  with 
out  one  blow  for  this,  Nabu  -  Nahid's,  country,  the 
country  over  which  he  had  ruled  as  justly  and  as 
gently  as  he  could  for  seventeen  proud  years.  No.  He 
had  been  left  alone,  utterly  alone,  without  a  single 
hand  to  hold  him  back  when  others  pushed  him  ruth 
lessly  forward  to  face  the  rainbow  gates  of  the  silver 
sky. 

Through  the  city  and  out  of  the  gate  of  Babylon 
and  over  the  shadowy  plain  for  half  a  mile  or  more, 
the  slow  cart  passed  till  it  came  to  a  halt  in  the  camp 


S I  P  P  A  R  383 

of  the  invader,  in  front  of  a  great,  crimson  tent  that 
stood  in  the  midst  of  a  host  of  smaller  ones,  and  on 
top  of  which,  from  the  head  of  a  spear  fastened  to  the 
central  pole,  hung  suspended  the  Persian  sun-standard. 
Nabonidus  saw  this,  rising  against  the  shadowy  sky; 
and  seeing  it,  he  realized  where  they  were. 

There  were  two  soldiers  guarding  the  door  of  this 
tent ;  and,  as  the  cart  halted  before  it,  a  short  colloquy 
passed  between  them  and  Nabonidus'  captors.  Then 
one  of  the  soldiers  disappeared  inside,  to  come  forth 
again  an  instant  later  with  an  order.  Nabonidus 
was  lifted  from  the  vehicle  and  carried  inside  the  tem 
porary  domicile  of  the  general.  He  was  greeted  by  a 
glare  of  light  so  bright  that,  involuntarily,  his  weak 
eyes  closed  before  it.  When  he  opened  them  again  to 
look  about,  he  had  been  placed  on  his  feet,  and  found 
himself  facing  a  tall,  heavily  armored,  black-bearded 
fellow,  with  piercing  eyes  and  an  air  of  undeniable 
dignity,  who  performed  an  obeisance  due  from  a  noble 
man  of  rank  to  a  sovereign. 

"  Lord  Nabonidus  of  Babylon,  I  bid  you  welcome 
to  my  tent  in  the  name  of  Bel,  your  god.  I  am  Go- 
bryas,  general  of  the  army  of  Kurush  of  Elam." 

Nabonidus  slowly  bent  his  head.  "  I  am  your  pris 
oner.  Do  your  will  with  me,"  he  said,  faintly. 

"  It  is  my  wish,  0  king,  that  you  sleep  here  to-night 
in  peace.  By  rule  of  war  you  are  my  prisoner.  Yet 
know  that  I  and  all  that  is  mine  to  give,  save  only 
freedom,  are  at  the  king's  command." 

Again  Nabonidus  bowed  his  head ;  and  then,  lifting  it 
slowly,  he  gazed  at  Gobryas  with  a  question  in  his  eyes. 

" I  ask  of  you  to  speak,  lord  king!"  said  the  general, 
with  all  courtesy  in  his  tone. 

Nabonidus  drew  a  quick  breath.  Then,  with  an 
effort,  he  said:  "Sippar — is  fallen — to  you?" 

Gobryas  bowed,  with  regret  in  his  attitude. 

"  And  my  servants — Nana-Babilu,  and  Sharrukin, 
the  former  governor  of  the  city,  where  are  they?" 


384  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"0  king,  they  have  suffered  the  fate  of  the  con 
quered.  They  alone,  out  of  all  Sippar,  were  killed  in 
defending  their  palaces." 

"They  alone/'  whispered  the  king  to  himself, 
wearily.  "They  alone?  Nay,  there  was  one  other 
— one  other  faithful  servant  had  I  in  my  kingdom. 
I  pray  that  Bel — re — ceive — "  The  old  man  reeled 
where  he  stood.  Gobryas  sprang  quickly  forward, 
catching  him  before  he  fell.  And  as  he  gazed  upon 
the  helpless,  innocent  face  of  the  fallen  king,  Gobryas 
was  constrained  to  wonder  a  little  whether  the  part  he 
had  played  in  this  game  of  unwarlike  war  were  quite 
worth  the  suffering  it  inflicted  upon  others. 


XVI 
BELTI-SHAR-UZZUR 

EIGHT  days  after  the  fall  of  Sippar,  the  army  of 
the  Elamite  king  lay  encamped  before  Babylon. 
Not  so  vast  an  army,  after  all,  this  that  had  come  out 
of  lower  Chaldea,  after  a  series  of  astounding  vic 
tories,  to  take  the  Great  City  from  her  king.  ,  Less 
than  half  a  mile  from  where  the  gigantic  height  of 
Nimitti-Bel  shut  off  the  northeast  horizon,  the  tents 
of  Cyrus'  army  lay  scattered  over  the  parched  plain. 
The  largest  of  these,  over  which  hung  the  royal  stand 
ard,  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  first  line  of  the  encamp 
ment,  where  it  was  most  prominent  to  the  eye  from  the 
city  walls,  and  in  the  place  of  greatest  danger  in  case 
of  a  sortie  from  the  city. 

Inside  of  Cyrus'  tent,  on  this  third  day  of  the  in 
active  siege,  sat  the  royal  commander  himself,  hard  at 
work.  The  weather,  even  to  a  Babylonian  born  and 
bred,  was  nearly  unendurable.  To  one  who  had  been 
reared  in  the  hills  and  had  ruled  over  mountain- 
built  Susa,  with  her  fresh  northerly  winds  and  cold 
torrent  streams,  the  temperature  of  a  Chaldean  sum 
mer  was  something  to  be  marvelled  at.  To-day  the 
conqueror  half  sat,  half  lay  upon  the  couch  in  his  tent, 
dictating  letters  to  three  scribes,  who  bent  over  their 
bricks  in  a  steaming  row  in  the  door  of  the  tent.  Both 
the  manner  and  the  voice  of  the  Achaemenian  betrayed 
his  intense  fatigue.  Nevertheless  he  kept  steadily 
on,  formulating  various  curious  plans  for  the  prosecu 
tion  of  his  siege. 


386  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

A  short,  rather  stocky  man,  this  Cyrus,  with  thick, 
curling  hair,  a  beard  more  golden-brown  than  black, 
and  eyes  so  piercingly  brilliant  that  it  was  difficult  to 
determine  their  shade.  His  face  had  been  tanned  to  a 
leathery  brown  by  years  of  exposure  in  various  climes ; 
but  his  hands  were  smooth,  shapely,  and  well-kept. 
In  dress,  there  was  no  hint  of  either  soldier  or  ruler. 
His  head  was  bound  round  with  a  red  fillet  embroidered 
in  black  and  gold.  His  body  was  clothed  in  the  light 
est  and  simplest  of  yellowish  cotton  tunics,  narrowly 
bordered  with  red.  On  his  feet  he  wore  sandals,  and 
his  ankles  and  calves  were  bare.  Only  by  his  eyes 
and  by  the  quick  decisiveness  of  his  manner  could  one 
have  guessed  that  his  station  was  high.  And  yet, 
with  these  two  things  to  go  by,  few  would  have  failed 
to  select  this  man  out  of  a  hundred  others  as  being 
indeed  Kurush,  the  king. 

Besides  the  king  and  his  three  scribes,  there  was  one 
other  person  in  the  royal  tent  on  this  blazing  after 
noon  of  the  twenty-second  of  the  month  Duzu.  This 
was  a  young  man,  tall  and  meagre  in  body,  with  a 
peculiarly  long  head,  a  face  not  wholly  devoid  of  beauty, 
but  with  an  expression  lurking  about  the  lips  and 
eyes  that  one  who  loved  him  would  not  have  cared  to 
analyze.  Richly  dressed  was  this  youth,  much  belted, 
chained,  and  braceleted  with  silver  and  gold,  his  tunic 
elaborately  embroidered,  the  very  thongs  of  his  sandals 
wrought  with  lapis-lazuli  and  crystals.  It  was  Cani- 
byses,  eldest  son  and  heir  of  the  great  Cyrus,  who 
thus  lay  in  the  presence  of  his  father,  sighing  out  his 
weariness  with  the  heat,  with  the  campaign,  with  the 
lack  of  fighting,  with  the  length  of  days — with  any 
thing  and  everything  that  it  came  into  his  head  to  say, 
and  with  that  everything  twisted  into  a  complaint. 

Cyrus,  long  accustomed  to  this  monotone  as  an 
accompaniment  to  his  afternoons  of  labor,  listened  to 
it  abstractedly  as  he  continued  his  letters.  The  train 
of  thought  that  could  not  be  disturbed  by  words,  how- 


BELTI-SHAR-UZZUR  387 

ever,  was  presently  broken  by  a  shadow  passing  the 
door- way  of  the  tent ;  and  he  suddenly  looked  up,  star 
ing  at  the  second  scribe,  trying  to 'return  to  his  sen 
tence,  but  able  to  think  of  nothing  but  the  last  impre 
cation  uttered  by  his  son. 

"  In  the  name  of  Ahura  the  blessed,  Cambyses,  get 
you  from  my  presence  till  these  labors  are  at  an  end! 
Follow  Bardiya  into  the  camp,  go  where  you. will,  but 
leave  me  to  the  letters  that  must  be  despatched  to-night 
if  there  be  no  word  from  Gobryas  this  afternoon." 

"May  he  soon  come!"  muttered  the  first  scribe;  and 
the  second  and  third,  hearing,  sighed  in  unison  and 
wiped  the  sweat  from  their  dripping  brows. 

Cambyses  had  risen  and  was  doubtfully  contem 
plating  the  prospect  of  the  camp.  Cyrus  had  come 
back  to  the  subject  of  his  epistle,  and  the  scribe  sat 
with  his  cuneiform  iron  poised  in  the  air,  when  the 
scene  was  broken  up.  A  horse,  carrying  a  rider  who 
clung  to  its  bare  back  like  a  monkey,  one  hand  twist 
ed  in  the  mane  for  guidance,  came  dashing  up  over 
the  plain  from  the  northwest  and  stopped  at  the  tent 
door.  The  rider  leaped  to  the  ground,  bending  his 
head  slightly  before  the  king,  and  shouting,  in  a  clear, 
fresh  voice: 

"News,  my  father!  News  at  last!  Gobryas  with 
his  army  is  three  miles  away.  He  will  reach  us  by 
nightfall!" 

Cyrus  sprang  to  his  feet.  "How  know  you  this, 
Bardiya?" 

"I  have  seen  them  all,  spoken  with  the  general, 
and  return  to  thee  as  his  messenger." 

Cyrus  quickly  waved  his  hand  to  the  scribes.  "  Get 
you  to  your  tents.  Do  not  return  to  me  till  I  shall 
command." 

He  waited  while  the  three  men  picked  up  their  stools 
in  sober  joy,  and,  saluting  the  royal  master  with  a 
single  accord,  departed  in  an  orderly  file.  When  they 
were  out  of  hearing,  and  Cyrus  and  his  two  sons  were 


ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

quite  alone,  the  king  let  fall  the  crimson  flap  over  the 
tent  door,  and  then  turned  to  Bardiya  with  his  face 
very  eager.  "The  king,  Bar — " 

"Gobryas  brings  with  him  Nabu-Nahid,  the  king 
of  Babylon,  a  prisoner,  to  deliver  him  up  to  you." 

Cyrus  nodded,  with  less  satisfaction  than  the  boy 
had  expected,  and  then  thoughtfully  bent  his  head. 
There  was  a  short  silence,  which  neither  of  the  sons 
dared  break.  They  saw  an  expression  of  trouble  creep 
into  their  father's  face.  They  saw  him  frown,  and 
they  heard  him  sigh.  Then  suddenly  he  crossed  to 
a  small  coffer  in  the  tent,  and  drew  from  it  a  long, 
white  streamer. 

"Bardiya,  fasten  this  to  the  head  of  the  spear  on 
top  of  the  tent.  Put  it  there  thyself,  and  at  once." 

The  boy,  in  extreme,  surprise,  received  the  pennant 
from  his  father's  hand  and  went  outside  with  it. 
Fifteen  minutes  later  it  was  floating  in  the  hot  after 
noon  wind  from  the  top  of  the  royal  tent;  and  ten 
minutes  after  that  a  white -robed  acolyte  had  left  the 
summit  of  Nimitti-Bel  and  was  speeding  through  the 
fields  on  his  way  to  a  certain  house  in  the  centre  of 
the  city. 

The  afternoon  passed.  It  came  to  be  the  hour  of 
day's  death,  and  in  that  hour  the  final  junction  of 
the  two  invading  armies  was  to  be  effected.  Seven 
months  before,  in  the  hills  of  Elam,  they  had  separated, 
Gobryas  marching  to  the  north,  Cyrus  to  the  south. 
And  now,  each  of  them  having  fulfilled  to  the  letter 
his  plan  of  campaign,  there  remained  only  one  thing 
more  to  do,  the  taking  of  that  city  which,  six  years 
ago,  Cyrus  had  found  impregnable  to  arms,  and  which 
he  was  now  to  assault  in  a  less  honorable  and  surer 
way. 

The  lamps  in  the  royal  tent  were  already  swinging 
from  their  chains  in  a  glow  of  fire,  and  the  full  moon 
was  rising  from  the  east  over  the  city,  though  the 
sky  was  still  too  white  for  stars,  when  Cyrus,  with 


BELTI-SHAR-UZZUR  389 

Cambyses  on  his  right  hand  and  Bardiya  on  his  left, 
stood  in  the  door-way  of  his  tent,  waiting.  Over  the 
plain,  at  no  great  distance,  could  be  seen  a  slow-moving 
line  of  horses  and  men.  In  front  of  this  line,  advancing 
at  full  gallop,  came  a  single  chariot,  drawn  by  three 
white  horses  harnessed  abreast,  and  carrying  three 
men — the  driver  and  two  others.  This  vehicle  hurried 
along  straight  in  the  direction  of  the  royal  tent,  until 
presently  Cyrus  stepped  eagerly  forward,  while  his 
sons  cried  in  one  voice,  "Gobryas!" 

The  chariot  came  to  a  halt,  and  from  it  leaped  a 
tall,  bearded  fellow,  whom  Cyrus  seized  in  his  arms 
and  clasped  delightedly.  "Welcome,  lord  of  Sippar. 
Welcome,  O  conqueror!"  he  cried,  in  the  Aramaic  lan 
guage,  generally  used  in  his  camp,  and  understood  by 
Babylonian,  Jew,  and  Elamite  alike. 

Having  been  embraced,  Gobryas  saw  fit  to  bend 
the  knee  before  his  master,  saying:  "I  bring  the 
king  my  lord  his  royal  prisoner.  He  is  full  of  years 
and  weary  with  the  length  of  day.  Let  him,  I  pray, 
be  removed  to  some  tent  that  befits  his  rank,  where 
refreshment  may  be  given  him." 

Three  pairs  of  eyes  looked  quickly  up  to  the  chariot, 
but  Nabonidus'  back  was  turned  to  them.  He  stood 
there  alone,  his  chained  arms  at  his  sides,  looking  off 
upon  the  walls  of  Babylon.  His  face  was  invisible; 
but  Cyrus,  seeing  it,  would  not  have  known  the  expres 
sion.  As  it  was,  when  the  conqueror  stepped  up  to  the 
chariot  and  spoke  a  word  of  courteous  greeting,  the  old 
man  turned  to  him  a  dull  and  gentle  countenance. 

"  0  king,  Nabu  -  Nahid  of  the  Great  City,  let  thy 
body  find  rest  and  refreshment  here  in  my  frail  dwell 
ing-place!  In  the  name  of  the  blessed  Ahura -Mazda, 
I,  Kurush,  bid  thee  welcome.  Descend  from  the  hot 
chariot  and  enter  my  tent." 

Nabonidus  acknowledged  the  courtesy  with  old- 
accustomed  graciousness.  In  alighting  from  the  ve 
hicle  he  stumbled  a  little  in  his  great  exhaustion. 


39«  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Instantly  Bardiya  and  Gobryas  started  to  his  side, 
and,  each  taking  an  arm,  assisted  the  fallen  king 
gently  inside  the  tent,  prepared  for  him  the  couch 
on  which  Cambyses  had  spent  the  afternoon,  and  made 
him  comfortable  upon  it  while  Cyrus  called,  to  a  slave 
to  bring  food  and  wine  to  all. 

The  five  of  them  partook  together  of  the  evening 
meal,  while  conversation  ran  upon  general  topics. 
Nabonidus  did  not  speak;  nor,  though  the  others  did 
not  guess  it,  did  he  listen  to  what  was  said.  Cyrus 
and  his  general  might  have  discussed  their  most  secret 
plans  without  risk  of  being  overheard  or  understood, 
for  Nabonidus'  heart  was  beyond  them,  in  Babylon, 
and  his  thoughts  were  of  his  world,  not  of  theirs. 

After  the  meal  was  over,  however,  Gobryas  leaned 
across  to  the  king  and  whispered,  just  audibly:  "I 
must  go  forth  now,  for  a  time,  to  oversee  the  encamp 
ment  that  you  have  commanded.  While  I  am  gone, 
were  it  not  well  that  Nabonidus  be  put  in  a  tent  of  his 
own,  under  guard,  that  when  I  return  we  may  talk 
freely  of  many  things?" 

"Nabu-Nahid — "  Cyrus  hesitated  a  little  in  his 
reply.  "Nabu-Nahid  will,  I  think,  not  sleep  in  this 
camp  to-night.  He  is  to  be  delivered  into  other  hands, 
to  which,  many  weeks  ago,  I  promised  to  intrust  him." 

"Whose  are  they?"  demanded  Gobryas,  roughly, 
without  any  of  the  respect  due  to  his  lord. 

Cyrus  failed  to  resent  the  breach.  His  expression 
betokened  regret  as  he  opened  his  lips  to  reply.  But 
before  a  word  left  his  mouth  two  figures  appeared  sud 
denly  in  the  door-way — two  white-robed  figures,  only 
one  of  whom  wore  the  goat-skin  on  his  shoulder.  Be 
fore  Cyrus  could  turn  to  them,  the  prisoner  on  the 
couch  sprang  suddenly  to  his  feet,  and  a  cry  rang  out 
into  the  night : 

"Amraphel — thou  dog!" 

Then  silence  ensued.  Gobryas,  whose  back  had 
turned  to  the  door,  moved  slowly  round.  Catching 


BELTI-SHAR-UZZUR  391 

sight  of  the  new-comers,  he  suddenly  realized  what 
Cyrus  had  meant:  suddenly  knew  why  Nabonidus 
would  not  sleep  that  night  safely  guarded  in  the 
camp.  The  high -priest  of  Babylon,  and  the  leader 
of  the  Jews,  in  response  to  a  prearranged  signal,  had 
come  to  claim  their  own — part  of  their  payment  for 
the  betrayal  of  the  city. 

As  he  looked  and  understood  yet  more,  Gobryas' 
face  darkened  with  disgust.  He  could  imagine  well 
enough  what  was  to  follow,  and  his  spirit  revolted 
against  taking  any  part  in  it. 

"Let  my  lord  give  me  permission  to  retire!"  he  de 
manded  gruffly  of  Cyrus. 

The  king  nodded  to  him,  and  the  general  forth 
with,  with  a  curl  of  the  lip  and  a  flash  of  disdain  at 
the  Babylonians,  brushed  his  way  by  them  and  hur 
riedly  left  the  tent.  His  departure  removed  the  single 
disinterested  element  in  the  scene — and  those  that  re 
mained  to  enact  it  drew  mental  breath.  For  a  moment 
or  two  no  one  moved.  Priest  and  Jew  stood  facing 
the  conqueror,  the  three  of  them  eying  one  another  in 
full  understanding  of  this  consummation  of  their  plot. 
The  conqueror's  sons,  more  than  half  cognizant  of  the 
whole  significance  of  the  affair,  shifted  their  glances 
from  one  figure  to  another  with  a  vague  sense  of  fore 
boding.  Lastly,  Nabonidus,  the  central  figure  in  the 
scene,  stiff  and  faint  in  his  unutterable  desertion, 
hair  and  face  far  whiter  than  his  stained  garments, 
confronted,  with  an  air  of  supreme  accusation,  the 
two  betrayers  of  his  people.  The  silence  was  long, 
and  nearly  unendurable.  Amraphel  would  not  speak ; 
Cyrus  could  not;  the  young  men  did  not  dare.  It 
remained  for  Belti-shar-uzzur,  evading  that  burning 
glance  of  Nabu-Nahid's,  to  address  himself  to  the 
conqueror :  ^ 

"We  have  seen  the  signal,  Kurush,  and  have  an 
swered  it.  We  are  come  to  receive  our  own." 

For  the  shadow  of  an  instant  Cyrus  dropped  his 


392  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

eyes.  He  said,  anxiously :  "  Leave  the  prisoner  here. 
I  swear  to  his  safety.  He  shall  come  to  no  harm!" 

Amraphel  stepped  forward  with  menace  in  his  eyes. 
"The  promise!  Remember  the  promise!  Remember, 
or  we  fail  you.  Babylon  to  thee — Nabu-Nahid  to  us!" 

At  these  words  two  cries  rang  out  through  the  tent. 
The  one  was  from  Nabu-Nahid,  the  other  from  Cyrus' 
youngest  son.  The  boy  stepped  forward  quickly,  his 
feeling  plainly  written  in  his  young  face.  "My  fa 
ther!"  was  all  he  said;  but  before  the  words,  and  the 
unutterable  things  they  told,  the  head  of  the  great 
warrior  fell  and  his  heart  smote  him. 

"Give  us  our  tribute,  Kurush!"  sneered  the  Jew, 
scorning  the  scene. 

"  Take  what  was  promised  you,"  answered  the  con 
queror,  slowly. 

Belti  -  shar  -  uzzur  stepped  forward  exultantly  and 
would  have  put  out  his  hand  to  touch  Naboriidus' 
arm,  when  the  old  man  quickly  turned  from  him  and 
cast  himself  at  Cyrus'  feet. 

"Thou  wearest,  there  at  thy  waist,  a  knife,  0  con 
queror!  Let  it  by  thy  hand  rest  in  my  heart!"  he  cried 
out.  "  Send  me  not  forth,  great  king,  in  the  power  of 
these  two,  or  I  die  terribly!  I  die  alone,  in  the  night, 
with  none  to  close  my  eyes!" 

Cyrus  turned  his  head  away.  "Take  the  prisoner 
from  my  sight,  ye  dogs,  or  I  will  hold  ye  both  here 
also!  Take  him  from  me!" 

At  this  Daniel,  starting  forward,  threw  himself  on 
the  kneeling  king,  caught  him  about  the  meagre  body, 
swung  him  up  to  shoulder,  and  would  have  started 
out  of  the  tent  when  Amraphel  stopped  him. 

"  The  gag,"  he  muttered,  sharply. 

Bardiya  started  forward,  his  hand  on  his  sword; 
but  his  father,  catching  him  by  the  girdle,  held  him 
in  a  grasp  of  iron  till  the  operation  was  over  and 
the  piece  of  wood  lay  in  Nabu-Nahid's  mouth,  fast 
ened  there  with  a  white  bandage.  His  hands  and 


BELTI-SHAR-UZZUR  393 

feet  were  also  bound  with  leathern  thongs,  and  after 
this  the  body,  now  as  helpless  as  a  log,  was  borne  out 
into  the  night  in  the  arms  of  the  Jew.  Then  Cyrus 
and  his  sons  were  left  alone,  nor/during  the  remain 
der  of  that  unhappy  night,  did  they  speak  one  to  an 
other. 

In  the  mean  time  Daniel  had  carried  the  king  to 
where,  some  yards  from  the  entrance  of  the  royal  tent, 
there  stood  a  closed  litter,  such  as  was  used  by  women 
of  rank.  Beside  it,  as  it  rested  on  the  ground,  were 
its  four  bearers,  stalwart  men,  muffled  from  head  to 
foot  in  white — slaves  of  the  house  of  Amraphel.  None 
of  these  mute,  dark -faced  creatures  stirred  as  their 
master  returned  to  them  with  his  companion  and  his 
companion's  burden.  Only,  as  they  came  close,  the 
foremost  fellow  silently  threw  back  the  curtain  from 
one  side  of  the  basket -like  couch.  Daniel  stooped 
and  laid  the  body  of  the  king  on  his  back  on  the  cush 
ions  inside.  The  king  closed  his  eyes.  The  curtain 
was  lowered  and  Amraphel  gave  the  signal.  The 
four  slaves  seized  the  poles  and,  softly  singing  their 
working-chorus,  raised  their  burden  waist  -  high  and 
began  their  walk  back  to  the  gate  of  Sand. 

It  was  a  twenty-minute  walk,  and  was  accomplished 
without  adventure.  When  they  came  to  a  halt  out 
side  the  gate,  Nabonidus,  anxiously  listening,  could 
hear  nothing  but  a  suggestion  of  whispering  between 
Amraphel  and  some  one  whom  he  believed  to  be  the 
captain  of  the  gate.  Presently  their  way  was  resumed, 
and  the  company  passed  into  the  city.  A  little  dis 
tance  inside,  the  litter  stopped  again  and  was  set 
down  on  the  ground.  The  curtains  were  thrown  back, 
Daniel  bent  again  over  the  king,  took  him  about  the 
body,  and,  lifting  him,  laid  him  in  one  of  two  char 
iots  that  stood  waiting.  In  his  single  fleeting  glance 
Nabonidus  recognized  both  of  these  as  belonging 
to  Amraphel's  house.  The  king  lay  in  the  one  that 
•Daniel  entered.  From  the  other,  where  Amraphel 


394  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

stood,  came  presently  the  long,  peculiar  cry  for  the 
starting  of  the  horses.  Daniel's  driver  echoed  it.  The 
animals  sprang  forward,  and  the  long  drive  through 
the  city  began. 

In  spite  of  the  jolting  misery  of  that  ride,  Nabonidus 
preferred  it  to  the  litter.  Air  came  freely  to  his  lips, 
and  now  he  could  see  a  little  of  what  they  passed.  The 
moon  was  well  up  in  the  unclouded  sky,  lighting  the 
fields  and  streets  of  the  Great  City  for  the  last  passage 
of  her  last  native  king.  Nabonidus'  heart  was  full, 
but  he  did  not  weep.  The  end  to  which  he  was  going 
was  unknown.  Yet  this,  for  him,  was,  as  he  knew 
well,  the  last  sight  of  his  beloved  city.  Still,  even 
as  he  went,  the  moonlight  fell  athwart  the  sapphire 
charm  that  hung  upon  his  neck,  and  sent  forth  a  thin 
gleam  of  the  blue  light  of  hope  —  a  hope  that  could 
not  be  brought  to  fulfilment  by  anything  short  of  a 
miracle. 

The  horses  on  both  the  chariots  were  swift,  and  it 
took  scarcely  a  half-hour  to  reach  the  second  gate  of 
Sand  in  Imgur-Bel.  Through  this  they  passed  with 
out  parley,  and  the  journey  across  the  inner  city  was 
begun.  They  had  entered  Babylon  at  the  extreme 
west,  a  little  to  the  north  of  the  canal  of  the  New  Year, 
which,  as  they 'drove,  could  be  seen  in  the  distance, 
shining  clear  as  silver  frost  in  the  moonlight,  reflect 
ing  in  its  placid  surface  the  shadowy  black  buildings 
near  it  on  either  side.  Ribata's  house  was  too  far 
distant  to  be  seen;  and  the  tenement  of  Ut  rose  tall 
and  gaunt  a  long  way  to  the  south.  Ten  minutes 
later  the  hurrying  vehicles  clattered  into  the  A-Ibur- 
Sabu.  They  continued  along  the  famous  way  for  lit 
tle  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  then  turned  to 
the  east  again,  till,  at  something  near  eleven  o'clock, 
they  came  to  a  halt  beside  a  small,  neglected  build 
ing  on  the  bank  of  the  river  Euphrates :  mighty  Eu 
phrates  whose  Chaldaic  waves  were  of  tears  to-night. 
Here,  evidently,  was  their  destination.  Nabonidus, 


BELTI-SHAR-UZZUR  395 

aching  in  every  joint,  groaning  wretchedly  in  his 
heart,  was  lifted  again  in  Daniel's  arms.  He  had  one 
glance  at  the  river  and  the  group  of  royal  buildings 
clustered  thereon  but  a  little  distance  away.  For  one 
instant  the  three  famous  palaces  and  the  mound  of 
the  hanging  gardens  met  his  eyes.  Then  they  were 
lost  to  him,  for  the  world  swam  and  grew  black,  and 
he  fainted. 

Two  minutes  later,  when  he  returned  into  a  dim 
consciousness,  he  was  in  a  place  that  he  soon  came  to 
recognize.  It  was  the  temporary  abode  of  his  strange 
gods.  The  interior,  lighted  by  two  torches,  that  burned 
blue  and  ghostlike  on  the  bare  brick  wralls,  was  utterly 
forlorn.  The  walls,  floors,  and  ceiling  were  of  crum 
bling  gray  brick,  unrelieved  by  a  single  color  or  at 
tempt  at  ornament;  and  the  usually  open  door -way 
was  now  closed  by  a  black  curtain.  So  much  he  saw 
in  the  first  moment  of  arrival.  In  the  next  he  re 
alized  that  the  gag  had  been  taken  from  his  mouth 
and  that  his  arms  were  being  unbound.  In  the  third 
the  voice  of  Amraphel  was  heard,  bidding  him  rise. 
Obediently  he  made  the  attempt,  got,  with  much  effort, 
to  his  feet,  reeled  blindly,  and  was  saved  from  falling 
again  by  Daniel.  Amraphel's  lip  curled.  Neverthe 
less  he  helped  the  old  man  to  sit  down  with  his  back 
to  the  wall.  Then,  when  Nabonidus  had  blinked  a 
little  and  grown  steadier  as  to  his  head,  the  high-priest 
stood  over  him  and  spoke: 

"Thou,  0  weak  one,  hast  been  king  of  the  Great 
City.  King  of  her  shalt  thou  be  nevermore.  Here 
thou  art,  alone,  unheard,  unseen,  in  my  power  and 
the  power  of  the  captive  Jew.  Death  hangs  over  thy 
head;  yet  by  one  means  thou  mayst  save  thyself. 
Wilt  thou  hear?" 

Nabonidus,  looking  at  him  steadily,  nodded. 

Amraphel  continued:  "No  man,  Nabonidus,  either 
fears  or  loves  thee.  Thy  power  over  the  people  of  the 
Great  City  does  not  by  one  -  twentieth  equal  mine. 


396  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

But  at  thy  passing  there  are  two — two  whom  1  hate 
— and,  I  say  it,  fear — that  will  struggle  for  the  crown 
thou  hast  borne.  One  of  these  thou  hast  seen  to-night 
—the  Achaemenian.  The  other  is  the  child  of  thy 
flesh,  not  of  thy  spirit — Belshazzar  the  prince.  Nabu- 
Nahid,  if  thou  to-night  wilt  swear,  on  penalty  of  the 
curse  of  all  the  gods,  to  remove  thy  son  and  thy  son's 
wives,  and  thyself  and  thy  wives,  and  all  thy  house 
hold,  from  the  royal  palace,  and  wilt  swear  that  thou 
and  he  will  go  forth  in  peace  out  of  the  Great  City,  to 
return  no  more  to  it  forever,  if  thou  wilt  do  this — " 

"Thou  fool!" 

Amraphel  faced  round.     "What  sayest  thou,  Jew?" 

"Thou  fool!  Wilt  thou  put  faith  in  the  word  of  a 
man  in  the  death  fear?  Wilt  thou  play  me  false? 
There  was  to  be  no  choice  here  to-night.  Mine  eyes 
were  to  behold  the  blood  of  the  enemy  of  my  race.  He 
shall  find  no  mercy — or,  if  he  finds  it,  then  thou  shalt 
not!" 

Amraphel  grew  white  with  anger;  but,  before  he 
spoke  again,  Nabonidus  had  struggled  to  his  feet 
and  stood  supporting  himself  against  the  wall,  gaz 
ing  with  fiery  eyes  at  his  enemy. 

"I  also  say  it: — thou  fool!"  he  said.  "Think  you, 
indeed,  that  because  I  am  old  and  feeble,  and  in  the 
power  of  traitors,  I  would  sell  the  birthright  of  my 
son?  Thou  fool!" 

At  these  words  Daniel  turned  to  the  old  man  and 
looked  thoughtfully  at  him.  But  Amraphel,  with  a 
sneer,  advanced  a  step  or  two,  and  said,  in  a  soft  and 
menacing  voice :  "  The  hour  is  come,  Nabu-Nahid. 
Prepare  thyself!" 

"0  Bel!     Receive  my  spirit  into  the  silver  sky!" 

Slowly  Daniel  drew  his  knife,  but  Amraphel  was 
before  him.  Nabonidus  saw  the  weapon  of  his  enemy 
flash  in  the  torch-light.  The  gleam  of  it  passed  over 
his  deathly  face.  Just  at  the  moment  of  the  blow,  a 
faint  cry  left  his  lips.  Then  a  long  spurt  of  heart's 


BELTI-SHAR-UZZUR  397 

blood  shot  from  the  body.  There  was  a  sickening 
gasp — a  fall — and  the  flesh  only  was  there  with  the 
murderers.  Nabu-Nahid  had  gone.  Belshazzar  was 
king  in  Babylon. 

The  Jew  had  gone  rather  sick,  and  Amraphel  him 
self  was  white  to  the  lips.  "  Let  us  go  forth,"  he  mut 
tered,  unsteadily. 

"Fool!"  said  Daniel,  for  the  second  time.  "Wilt 
thou  leave  here  the  body  of  the  king,  that  all  Babylon 
may  look  on  it  at  dawn?  Shall  thy  charioteer  and 
mine  say  who  it  was  that  brought  Nabonidus  here? 
Thou  hast  struck  the  blow.  Hast  thou  lost  strength 
to  finish  the  work?" 

Amraphel  caught  at  his  nerves  and  said:  "What 
is  there  to  be  done?" 

Daniel's  lip  curled,  but  he  did  not  reply  in  words. 
Passing  into  a  far  corner  of  the  temple,  he  took  up 
two  fallen  bricks  that  lay  there  and  brought  them 
over  to  the  body.  At  the  sight  Amraphel  came  to 
his  senses. 

"  I  will  make  fast  this  one  to  his  feet  if  thou  takest 
the  hands,"  he  said,  quietly. 

Accordingly  Daniel  drew  from  his  girdle  two  more 
leathern  thongs,  and  with  them  the  weights  were 
bound  upon  the  body.  Then  the  two  stood  back 
and  looked  at  their  work.  Amraphel  was  satisfied. 
Not  so  the  Jew.  One  more  brick  he  fetched  from  the 
little  heap  in  the  corner  and  fastened  it  on  Nabonidus' 
neck,  never  noticing  that  in  the  operation  he  loosened 
and  dislodged  something  that  had  been  around  the 
throat  of  the  king.  The  last  task  finished,  he  stood 
back  once  more,  carefully  examining  the  bloody 
corpse. 

"  Take  out  thy  dagger,"  he  said,  finally,  to  his  com 
panion. 

Amraphel  shrank  back.     "I  cannot!"  he  whispered. 

Beltishazzar  bent  over  and  drew  it  from  the  wound. 
Blood  followed  it  in  a  thick  stream,  The  Jew  wiped 


398  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

the  weapon  off  on  the  skirt  of  Nabonidus'  robe  and 
silently  handed  it  to  his  companion.  "Now  —  take 
thou  the  feet,"  he  commanded,  himself  lifting  the 
shoulders  of  the  light  body. 

Revolting  as  it  all  was,  Amraphel  could  not  but  obey 
the  word  of  the  Jew.  Together  they  bore  the  body  out 
of  the  temple,  into  the  still  moonlight,  down  to  the 
edge  of  the  quietly  flowing  river.  For  an  instant  they 
held  it  over  the  brink.  Then,  at  a  whisper  from  the 
Jew,  they  let  go  together.  There  was  a  splash,  an 
eddy  in  the  water,  a  little  red  stain  on  the  clear  stream, 
and  then  only  a  widening  circle  of  ripples  remained 
to  mark  the  resting-place  of  Babylon's  last  king. 

Late  on  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  Belitsum,  the 
low-born  second  wife  of  Nabonidus,  sat,  as  usual,  in 
the  court-yard  of  her  part  of  the  seraglio,  in  her  usual 
canopied  idleness.  Morning  prayers  and  exorcisms 
had  been  said;  the  daily  omens  looked  to;  all  the 
endless  details  of  superstition  finished;  and  now  the 
queen  of  Babylon  was  free  to  dream  away  the  rest 
of  the  day  in  comparative  quiet.  Beside  her  lay  a 
piece  of  unfinished  embroidery,  badly  done;  for  her 
plebeian  fingers  had  never  taken  kindly  to  this  work 
of  the  gentle-born.  Two  eunuchs  waved  over  her  huge 
leather  fans,  of  which  the  extreme  size  denoted  her 
rank.  Beside  her  sat  a  pretty  slave  with  a  lute  in  her 
hand,  though  Belitsum  was  paying  no  attention  to  the 
sweet  monotony  of  the  tune  she  played.  The  queen 
was  lost  in  one  of  those  vacant  reveries  in  which  long 
years  of  idleness  and  neglect  had  taught  her  to  remain 
for  hours. 

Suddenly  there  came  an  interruption  upon  this  quiet 
scene.  A  eunuch  of  the  outer  palace  hurriedly  en 
tered  the  court,  and,  prostrating  himself  profoundly 
before  Belitsum,  asked  permission  to  speak. 

The  queen  was  a  moment  or  two  coming  out  of  her 
dreams,  but  she  presently  recovered  enough  to  find  her 


BELTI-SHAR-UZZUR  399 

curiosity,  and  to  say  with  some  eagerness:  "Speak, 
slave!  Deliver  thy  message.  Is  it  from  the  king?" 

"May  it  be  pleasing  to  the  queen  jny  lady!  No 
word  hath  come  from  Nabu-Nahid.  It  is  a  sooth 
sayer  that  comes  in  royal  state,  beseeching  the  ears 
of  the  queen  to  incline  to  him." 

"  A  soothsayer?"  Belitsum  relapsed  into  tranquillity. 
"  Let  him  be  taken  into  the  shrine.  But  also  cause 
him  to  know  that  for  this  day  the  gods  have  been  pro 
pitiated." 

As  the  eunuch  departed,  Belitsum,  who  had  long 
since  lost  claim  to  youth  and  the  slenderness  thereof, 
rose  with  an  effort  to  her  feet.  "  Kudua,"  she  said 
to  the  slave,  who  had  also  scrambled  up,  "wait  thou 
my  return.  I  am  going  to  the  shrine." 

Kudua  fell  back  willingly  enough,  while  the  queen, 
followed  by  her  fan-bearers,  waddled  slowly  across  the 
court-yard  towards  the  specially  consecrated  room  in 
which  any  member  of  the  royal  harem  might  hold  con 
ference  with  men  of  the  outer  world.  In  spite  of  her 
slow  pace,  the  queen  reached  the  dimly  lighted  apart 
ment  in  advance  of  the  soothsayer;  and  she  occupied 
her  time  till  his  arrival  in  offering  up  a  quick  prayer 
to  Nindar,  her  especial  deity.  The  Amanu  had  hardly 
been  reached  when  two  figures  appeared  in  the  door 
way,  one  the  attendant  eunuch,  the  other  a  magnifi 
cently  robed  and  coroneted  man,  in  whom  one  ac 
customed  to  his  usual  slovenly  appearance  would 
have  had  great  difficulty  in  recognizing  Beltishazzar 
the  Jew. 

Belitsum,  entirely  ignorant  of  his  race  and  station, 
judging  him  only  by  his  dress  and  bearing,  came 
forward  with  hasty  respect,  leaving  her  fan-bearers 
on  either  side  of  the  small  altar.  At  the  same  time 
Daniel,  accustomed  of  old  to  the  rigorous  etiquette 
of  the  court,  made  a  proper  and  graceful  obeisance. 

"  Art  thou  indeed  but  a  soothsayer?"  inquired  Belit 
sum,  admiringly. 


400  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"No  soothsayer  I,  lady  queen  of  Babylon,  but  a 
prophet  and  a  dreamer  of  dreams.  And  it  is  by  reason 
of  a  dream  sent  me  by  the  Lord  of  my  race  that  I  come 
to  you,  seeking  audience.  Open  my  lips,  0  queen, 
that  I  may  tell  this  dream!" 

"Wilt  thou  have  gold?  Wilt  thou  have  gems  and 
silver?  How  shall  I  open  thy  lips?" 

"  Bid  me  only  to  speak.  Grant  me  the  favor.  Let 
me  tell  the  dream,  and  restrain  thy  tears  till  its  truth 
be  known." 

At  these  last  words  Belitsum  nervously  clasped  and 
unclasped  her  hands.  "Speak!"  she  said,  quickly. 
"  Tell  thy  drea  m !  Speak ! ' ' 

"  In  the  evening  of  yesterday  I  lay  down  and  slept. 
And  in  my  sleep  the  Lord  appeared  to  me  in  a  vision, 
saying :  '  Go  thou  down  to  the  temple  of  strange 
gods  by  the  side  of  the  river,  and  there  shalt  thou  find 
him  who  was  king  in  Babylon/  And  thereat,  in  my 
dream,  I  arose  and  went  down  through  the  city  to 
the  river-bank  and  the  deserted  temple  thereon.  And 
there  I  beheld  Nabu-Nahid,  the  king,  in  mortal  combat 
with  two  men  that  sought  to  kill  him.  And  in  my 
sleep  I  was  withheld  from  giving  him  aid.  I  saw 
him  fall  by  the  blow  from  a  golden  dagger,  and  when 
he  was  dead  the  assassins,  whose  faces  remained  black 
to  me,  lifted  him  in  their  arms  and  cast  him  into  the 
river,  and  he  sank  from  my  sight.  Then  said  the 
Lord  unto  me  again :  '  Having  beheld  this  thing, 
hasten  to  her  who  was  the  wife  of  him  that  is  dead 
and  relate  it  to  her.'  And  behold,  when  I  awoke  I 
obeyed  the  word  of  the  Lord ;  and,  obeying,  I  now  go 
forth  from  thy  presence."  Whereupon  Daniel,  with  a 
delightfully  dramatic  effect,  turned  short  on  his  heel, 
leaving  the  shrine,  and  in  three  minutes  was  outside 
the  palace  gates. 

Through  his  recital  Belitsum  and  her  eunuchs  had 
remained  open-mouthed,  rooted  where  they  stood.  It 
was  not  till  the  Jew  had  actually  disappeared  from 


BELTI-SHAR-UZZUR  401 

her  sight  that  the  queen's  amazement  was  overcome 
by  her  dismay,  and,  with  a  long-drawn,  preliminary 
howl,  she  fell  flat  upon  the  floor  in  an  agony  of  de 
spair.  Nabonidus,  her  husband,  was  dead.  Never  for 
one  instant  did  her  devout  soul  doubt  the  word  of 
the  prophet.  Nabonidus  was  dead,  and  she  was  a 
widow.  The  shrine  echoed  to  the  sounds  of  shrieks, 
of  groans,  of  wailing,  finally  of  hysterical  laughter. 
Now  and  then  an  attendant,  drawn  thither  by  the 
sounds  of  woe,  appeared  in  the  door -way,  looked  at 
her,  at  the  bewildered  eunuchs  behind  her,  and  scur 
ried  away  again  in  empty-headed  wonder.  Finally 
one,  wiser  than  the  rest,  went  to  the  room  where  Bel- 
shazzar  sat  in  council,  and  informed  him  that  his  step 
mother  was  dying  in  the  harem  shrine.  The  prince 
was  forced  to  believe  the  frightened  and  excited  man 
ner  of  the  slave,  and,  hastily  excusing  himself  to  his 
lords,  he  strode  through  the  palace  to  the  shrine.  In 
the  door -way  he  halted.  Belitsum  was  kneeling  on 
the  floor,  beating  her  breast  and  wailing  out  prayers 
for  the  dead.  She  did  not  even  notice  the  appearance 
of  the  prince. 

"  Belitsum — lady — what  is  thy  grief?"  He  asked, 
gently. 

No  response.     Ejaculations  and  redoubled  wails. 

Then  Belshazzar,  perceiving  that  she  was  bordering 
on  frenzy,  went  forward  and  took  her  by  the  shoulders. 
"Art  thou  stricken  with  a  sickness?"  he  demanded, 
loudly. 

"Thy  father— Nabu-Nahid— the  king!"  was  all  the 
answer  he  could  get. 

Belshazzar  grew  a  shade  paler.  "My  father!" 
He  looked  about  him,  and  caught  the  eye  of  one  of 
the  eunuchs  in  the  corner.  This  man  he  addressed. 
"What  is  the  cause  of  this  weeping?  Knowest  thou 
wherefore  she  cries?" 

The  man  nodded  solemnly. 

"Speak,  then!" 
26 


402  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Forthwith  the  slave  began  an  intelligent  recital 
of  the  occurrences  of  the  last  half-hour,  including  a 
repetition  of  the  dream  in  Daniel's  own  words.  Belit- 
sum  quieted  enough  during  this  speech  to  listen  again 
to  the  dream;  but,  after  it  was  finished,  the  look  on 
Belshazzar 's  face  somehow  withheld  her  from  recom 
mencing  her  lamentations. 

"Who  was  this  man?  Didst  thou  know  him?" 
demanded  the  prince  of  the  slave. 

"  0  prince,  live  forever  1  He  was  a  strange  prophet. 
Never  before  have  mine  eyes  beheld  him." 

Belshazzar  bit  his  lip.  His  face  was  very  grave. 
After  a  short  pause  he  took  Belitsum  by  the  arm  and 
lifted  her  up.  Then,  turning  again  to  the  eunuch, 
he  said,  quietly: 

"  Go  thou  and  command  my  chariot  to  be  brought, 
and  let  the  driver  be  alone  in  it." 

Then,  having  almost  tenderly  returned  Belitsum 
to  the  harem,  and  bidding  her  restrain  her  weeping 
till  his  return,  Belshazzar  went  forth  to  dismiss  his 
council  for  the  morning,  retaining  Ribata  alone  out 
of  all  the  councillors.  Fifteen  minutes  later  he  and 
Bit-Shumukin  together  mounted  the  chariot  and  set 
forth  for  the  little  temple  of  strange  gods  on  the 
bank  of  the  Euphrates.  During  the  drive  Belshazzar 
related  to  Ribata  the  substance  of  what  he  knew ;  and, 
like  himself,  Ribata 's  first  question  was  as  to  the  iden 
tity  of  the  prophet. 

"There  is  one  whom  it  might  be,"  suggested  the 
nobleman,  when  Belshazzar  had  confessed  himself  at 
fault.  "It  may,  perhaps,  be  Daniel  the  Jew." 

"So  at  first  I  thought.  Yet  when  has  any  man 
ever  beheld  Daniel  in  such  raiment  as  this  prophet 
wore?  The  Jew  is  poor." 

Ribata  demurred  a  little,  yet  could  not  but  admit  that 
Belshazzar  had  all  the  evidence  on  his  side.  Then,  as 
they  neared  the  temple,  silence  fell  between  them. 

The  little  building  stood  before  them  utterly  deserted. 


BELTI-SHAR-UZZUR  403 

Not  a  human  being  was  in  sight.  It  was  a  lonely 
spot  —  too  far  south  of  the  bridge  and  too  far  north 
of  the  ferry  to  be  frequented  by  any  one.  The  prince 
dismounted  from  the  chariot  first,  but  iii  the  curtained 
door-way  of  the  temple  he  paused. 

"Ribata,"  said  he,  softly,  "I  am  afraid." 

Bit-Shumukin's  reply  was  to  lay  a  brother's  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  Then  Belshazzar  lifted  back  the  cur 
tain  and  entered  the  room.  There  came  a  great  cry 
from  his  lips,  and  the  hideous  sight  was  once  more 
veiled  in  gloom. 

"There  is  blood,  Ribata!  It  is  blood!"  whispered 
the  prince,  hoarsely. 

"I  saw  it,  Belshazzar.  Yet  it  may  be  the  blood 
of  an  animal,  or  of  some  other  man.  I  cannot  think 
that  thy  father  was  yester-night  in  Babylon.  Come, 
let  us  look,  my  prince.  Within  we  may  find  some 
trace — some  evidence  of  what  has  happened." 

The  prince  shrank.  "Wilt  thou  do  it,  Ribata?"  he 
asked. 

Accordingly,  while  Belshazzar  held  aside  the  cur 
tain  that  some  light  might  enter  by  the  door  -  way, 
Ribata,  sick  at  heart,  hunted  over  the  blood-splashed 
floor  for  some  clew  to  the  identity  of  what  it  was 
that  had  died  here.  Belshazzar  presently  turned  his 
back  and  stood  staring  into  the  street,  refusing  to 
look,  yet  listening  with  every  sense  for  a  dreaded 
exclamation  from  his  friend.  It  came.  As  Bit-Shu- 
mukin  bent  over  the  corner  where  Nabonidus  had 
fallen,  he  found  something  that  wrung  from  him  a 
low  cry. 

Belshazzar  turned  deathly  white.  "What  is  it?" 
he  said,  quietly. 

Ribata  came  to  him  with  something  in  his  hand. 
It  was  a  small,  shining,  blue  stone,  that  showed  itself 
in  the  sunshine  to  be  an  Egyptian-cut  sapphire  of 
great  value,  attached  to  a  wire  of  twisted  gold. 

Belshazzar  took  it  dully  from  his  hand.     "  My  father 


404  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

wore  it  always  on  his  neck.      Let  us  return  to  the 

palace/'  he  said. 

"But  the  body — it  may  surely  be  found!" 

" The  river  hath  it.     Let  her  keep  her  own." 

And  so  the  two  remounted  the  vehicle  and  started 

on  their  way  back  through  the  city  of  which  Belshazzar 

was  king. 


XVII 
THE   WOMAN'S    WOE 

ON  that  fateful  morning  Belshazzar  was  away 
from  the  palace  less  than  one  hour;  yet  when 
he  re-entered  it  he  was  aged  ten  years  at  heart,  and 
one,  at  least,  in  appearance.  He  neither  saw  nor 
heard  any  one  as  he  hurried  through  the  great  court 
yard  to  his  own  room,  whither  Ribata  accompanied 
him  and  remained  with  him  till  late  afternoon,  while 
they  two  took  council  together.  Belshazzar  was  un 
naturally  calm.  Through  all  their  talk  neither  he 
nor  Ribata  once  hinted  that  either  knew  or  cared 
to  know  the  identity  of  the  murderers.  For,  what 
ever  they  suspected,  whatever  was  all  but  a  certainty, 
both  of  them  were  too  painfully  aware  of  Babylon's 
present  situation  not  to  know  that  any  accusation 
they  might  make  of  those  whose  power  was  now  su 
preme,  would  do  infinitely  more  harm  than  good : 
would  merely  precipitate  that  frightful  climax  that 
both  of  them  dreaded  and  neither  spoke  of.  There 
fore,  after  a  careful  debate,  it  was  decided  to  keep  the 
murder  of  Nabonidus  a  profound  secret  until  such 
time  as  the  disclosure  might  be  safely  made. 

"I  charge  thee  as  my  brother,  Ribata,"  were  Bel- 
shazzar's  parting  words  to  his  friend  that  day,  "that 
thou  let  no  man  or  woman,  of  whatever  station,  know 
from  thy  lips  who  is  king  of  Babylon.  And  save  for 
Istar,  who  is  as  myself,  none  shall  know  it  from 
my  lips.  But  also,  as  I  live  and  reign,  there  shall 
come  a  day,  not  too  distant,  when  justice  shall  be  done 


406  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

— when  this  foul  crime  shall  be  avenged,  as  never 
crime  before,  on  them  that  have  accomplished  it." 

Ribata  gave  his  promise  in  all  devotion,  and,  em 
bracing  his  king,  bade  him  farewell  and  set  off  to  his 
own  abode,  his  mind  unstrung  by  the  fearful  discovery 
of  the  morning. 

Long  hours  before,  Belshazzar  had  sent  a  message 
of  reassurance  to  Belitsum;  and  now,  with  a  weary 
sigh  of  relief,  he  turned  his  steps  towards  the  distant 
apartments  of  his  wife  and  child.  With  Istar,  as  he 
knew,  was  peace  and  sympathy.  Never  yet  had  she 
failed  to  understand  him,  and  to  offer  him  in  his  trials 
the  comfort  that  he  needed.  His  mind,  like  his  heart, 
was  absolutely  hers.  Arrived  at  the  threshold  of  the 
room  where,  at  this  hour,  she  was  always  to  be  found, 
he  stopped,  his  hand  upon  the  curtain.  Some  one 
within  had  been  singing.  Now,  noiseless  as  was  his 
approach,  the  voice  was  silent.  The  curtain  was 
pushed  aside.  Istar  stood  before  him  with  a  smile 
in  her  eyes. 

"I  felt  thy  presence,  lord,"  she  said,  in  such  a  tone 
that  his  face  kindled  with  love-light.  "Thou — Bel 
shazzar!  Art  thou  ill?" 

"Yea,  at  heart,"  he  answered.  "Not  in  body.  Be 
not  afraid.  Let  me  come  in  to  thee,  that  I  may  tell 
thee  Babylon's  new  woe." 

Istar  took  him  gently  by  the  hand  and  led  him  into 
the  apartment.  Inside  stood  Baba,  holding  the  baby 
to  her  breast.  It  was  she  wrhose  voice  Belshazzar  had 
heard.  Belshazzar  greeted  the  little  slave,  and  then 
Istar,  knowing  how  he  wished  to  be  alone  with  her, 
whispered  a  word  to  Baba,  who  a  moment  later  went 
quietly  away. 

When  they  were  alone  Belshazzar  sank  back  on 
the  divan  in  the  corner,  and  Istar,  laying  her  baby 
upon  the  bed,  seated  herself  at  her  lord's  feet,  laid  her 
hands  in  his,  and  anxiously  scanned  his  care-worn 
face. 


THE    WOMAN'S   WOE  407 

"Kurush  hath  stormed  the  walls,  Belshazzar?  The 
city  is  taken?"  she  asked. 

"  Nay,  my  beloved.  My  father  hath  been  murdered 
in  the  city — in  the  temple  of  the  strange  gods,  by  the 
river-bank." 

"Thy  father!"  Istar  gasped  with  horror.  "Thy 
father!  Oh,  my  lord  —  my  lord  —  save  thyself!  If 
they  should  do  this  with — "  Istar's  head  sank  for 
ward.  She  brought  both  Belshazzar's  hands  to  her 
lips  and  held  them  there  in  an  agony  of  love  and 
terror.  So  they  remained  for  a  long  time,  sorrow 
ing  together  silently:  Istar  for  her  lord,  Belshazzar 
for  the  city.  But  Istar's  presence  brought  comfort 
to  the  heart  of  the  king,  and  her  touch  filled  him 
with  that  high  sense  of  protectiveness  that  generates 
the  truest  courage.  In  this  woman  life  had  given 
him  enough.  He  had  neither  desire  nor  need  for 
further  blessings.  His  father  had  not  been  to  him 
all  that  a  stronger  man  might  have  been.  It  was 
the  horror  of  that  father's  lonely  death  that  now  so 
completely  overwhelmed  him.  But  Istar,  feminine, 
weak  even,  as  she  had  come  to  be,  brought  him  his 
full  meed  of  consolation.  The  two  of  them  wore  the 
night  away  in  council  for  Babylon;  for  Istar's  fears 
for  her  king  had  now  become  abnormal.  Belshazzar 
listened  in  surprise  to  her  desperate  prayers  that  he 
surround  himself  with  every  protection,  that  he  beware 
against  venturing  out  at  night,  that  he  wear  armor 
under  his  tunic,  and  that  he  carry  weapons  of  defence 
always  around  with  him. 

"  They  that  sought  thy  father's  life  seek  also  thine," 
she  insisted,  till  in  the  end  Belshazzar  left  her  with 
the  promise  that  he  would  care  for  himself  as  he  would 
have  cared  for  her. 

If  this  promise  were  not  to  the  letter  kept,  it  was 
hardly  to  be  laid  at  Belshazzar's  door  as  a  fault.  For 
at  such  a  time  as  this,  when  the  city  was  in  such  peril, 
an  example  of  cowardly  fear  from  its  ruler  wrould  have 


408  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

resulted  badly.  After  the  death  of  Nana-Babilu  at 
Sippar,  and  in  the  face  of  the  continued  absence  of 
Nabonidus,  Belshazzar  had  taken  on  himself  the  du 
ties  of  absolute  monarch — lord  of  the  people  and  gen 
eral  of  the  army.  And  certainly  it  never  could  be 
charged  to  him  that  he  neglected  these  duties.  Early 
and  late,  sometimes  from  dawn  until  dawn  again,  he 
worked  on  those  endless  details  of  civil  and  military 
life  that  he  alone  could  attend  to.  The  city  was  in 
a  state  of  siege.  All  the  gates  in  Nimitti-Bel  were 
closed,  and  those  in  Imgur-Bel  doubly  guarded.  Also, 
in  consideration  of  the  fact  that  the  food  supplies  com 
ing  from  the  country  were  cut  off,  the  great  fields  be 
tween  the  outer  and  inner  walls  were  under  cultivation. 
A  census  was  taken  of  every  soul  in  the  city,  and 
preparations  made  for  the  regular  daily  grain  allot 
ments  to  come  now  from  the  granaries,  and  later  from 
the  new  crops  when  they  should  be  ready  for  harvest. 
For,  by  careful  management,  no  one  in  Babylon  need 
ever  suffer  from  hunger,  no  matter  how  long  a  siege 
should  last.  This  Cyrus  had  learned  once  before,  six 
years  ago ;  and  the  question  now  in  the  mind  of  every 
man  was:  Could  he  be  made  to  cover  it  again? 

Certainly  the  siege  was  conducted  on  an  extraor 
dinary  plan.  For  ten  days  the  besieging  army  had 
lain  in  camp  before  the  walls  of  the  city,  yet  not  an 
arrow  had  as  yet  been  shot  on  either  side,  not  a  jav 
elin  hurled  nor  a  stone  slung.  The  handful  of  sol 
diers  inside  the  walls  were  hardly  more  than  enough 
to  man  the  watch-towers  and  guard  the  gates;  and 
they  were  under  orders  from  Belshazzar  to  await  de 
velopments  passively.  Meantime  they  were  kept  in 
excellent  form.  Every  day  Belshazzar  reviewed  them 
in  the  great  field  between  the  walls,  and  daily  he  ex 
amined  a  certain  number  of  men  from  his  own  regi 
ment  of  Guti  as  to  their  intelligence  and  ability.  Also, 
late  in  the  afternoon,  it  had  become  his  custom  to  drive 
on  top  of  Nimitti-Bel  in  his  chariot,  showing  himself 


THE    WOMAN'S    WOE  409 

to  the  enemy  and  to  the  city  also.  There  was  little 
danger  in  this  drive,  since  the  range  from  Cyrus' 
camp  was  too  long  for  any  known  weapon,  and  the 
height  of  the  wall  was  an  excellent  safeguard  against 
shots  from  nearer  at  hand.  At  this  time  quite  an 
extensive  stable  was  maintained  on  the  giant  wall. 
Chariots  had  been  wheeled  up  the  inclined  plane  that 
led  to  the  top  of  it,  and  orders  were  carried  from  gate 
to  gate  on  horseback  along  the  top.  Belshazzar's 
wild  drives  on  that  dizzy  height  became  one  of  the 
favorite  sights  of  the  citizens;  and  it  grew  to  be  the 
fashion  for  numbers  of  people  of  all  classes  to  drive 
out  to  Nimitti-Bel  in  the  afternoon,  to  witness  the  spec 
tacle  of  the  storm-prince  in  his  golden  chariot  lashing 
his  four  white  horses  madly  along  that  smooth  way, 
two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  the  ground. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  twelfth  day  of  the  siege,  one 
of  the  last  days  in  the  month  of  Duzu,  Charmides 
walked  out  beyond  Imgur-Bel  to  see  this  much-talked- 
of  sight.  At  this  time  the  Greek  presented  rather  a  dif 
ferent  appearance  from  that  of  six  months  ago.  His 
resignation  from  the  temple  of  Sin  had  proved  dis 
astrous;  and  there  were  now  times  when  the  meanest 
of  food  was  not  to  be  found  in  the  house  of  Beltani. 
Charmides  had  no  work  to  do,  would  not  beg,  hated 
the  thought  of  the  temple,  grew  gaunt  and  big-eyed, 
went  unkempt  as  to  dress,  and  mourned  over  Ramua, 
who  in  turn  wept  over  him,  both  of  them,  and  Beltani, 
too,  concealing  their  state  from  Baba  with  the  utmost 
care.  To-day,  after  a  troubled  hour  at  home,  where 
Ramua's  efforts  at  cheerfulness  were  like  blows  to 
him,  the  Greek  went  out,  in  the  face  of  a  prostrating 
heat,  to  seek  by  rapid  walking  an  escape  from  the 
thoughts  that  pursued  him,  and  to  evade  the  admis 
sion  to  himself  of  the  inevitable  end  :  that  he  must  go 
back  to  the  profession  of  lies  and  of  deceit ;  of  treach 
ery,  of  crimes,  of  death.  He  made  his  way  quickly 
across  the  city  and  out  beyond  the  first  wall  to  a  spot 


410  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

where  green,  well-watered  fields  stretched  before  his 
eyes,  putting  him  suddenly  back  into  his  youth.  He 
halted  in  his  walk  at  a  distance  of  thirty  yards  from 
the  great  wall,  just  behind  a  group  of  people  come  evi 
dently  for  the  same  purpose  as  his — that  of  watching 
Belshazzar's  drive.  Rather  absent-mindedly  the  Greek 
noticed  the  man  immediately  in  front  of  him,  who  had 
been  in  a  measure  connected  with  his  old  life  of  the 
temple;  and  he  watched  the  movements  of  that  lean, 
ill-kempt  figure  with  the  same  keen  sub-consciousness 
that  one  sometimes  exercises  when  the  thoughts  are 
very  intent  on  something  else.  It  was  in  this  way 
that  he  noted  the  sling  in  the  right  hand  of  the  Jew. 

There  was  not  long  to  wait  for  the  coming  of  Bel- 
shazzar.  At  a  little  murmur  from  the  men  in  front, 
Charmides  turned  his  head  and  saw,  far  down  the 
wall,  a  black  speck  that  gradually  increased  in  size, 
and  finally  resolved  itself  into  four  flying  horses,  har 
ness  and  crests  flashing  in  the  light  of  approaching 
sunset,  that  raced  neck  and  neck  under  the  long,  black 
lash  wielded  by  him  who  stood  alone  in  the  rattling 
vehicle — a  figure  the  poise  of  which  was  beyond  ques 
tion  royal.  Charmides  looked  on  it  with  undisguised 
admiration — the  superb  head  with  its  golden  coronet, 
the  broad  shoulders,  to  which  was  fastened  a  fluttering, 
crimson  cloak,  and  the  hands  flashing  with  jewels  the 
least  of  which  would  have  kept  the  Greek's  stricken 
household  well  fed  for  months. 

Absorbed  as  were  Charmides'  eyes  in  the  sight  of 
the  approaching  figure,  he  nevertheless  felt  his  gaze 
suddenly  withdrawn  to  the  man  in  front  of  him,  who 
was  now  busily  fumbling  with  the  weapon  in  his  right 
hand.  Suddenly  a  stone  had  been  fitted  into  the  sling 
and  aim  taken,  and  at  the  same  time  Charmides'  slow 
thoughts  resolved  themselves.  Leaning  forward,  he 
twitched  the  sleeve  on  the  Jew's  right  arm  at  the  mo 
ment  in  which  the  stone  flew  forth,  wide  of  its  mark, 
while  the  chariot  passed  safely  by.  Beltishazzar,  with 


THE   WOMAN'S    WOE  411 

a  Hebrew  exclamation,  wheeled  sharply  about.  Char- 
mides  faced  him  in  silence.  A  look  only  passed  be 
tween  them,  but  it  was  enough.  In  that  little  time 
they  knew  each  other.  Charmides  had  made  an  en 
emy,  and  the  all-powerful  Jew  felt  a  twinge  of  fear. 

An  hour  after  this  incident  Charmides  and  the  king 
met,  face  to  face,  in  the  middle  of  the  A-Ibur-Sabu. 
Belshazzar  was  in  his  ordinary  chariot,  slowly  return 
ing  from  the  walls.  Charmides  was  on  foot,  going  his 
weary  way  back  to  the  tenement  of  Ut.  It  occurred  to 
the  Greek  to  speak  to  the  lord  of  the  city  on  the  sub 
ject  of  his  personal  safety.  He  therefore  stopped  in 
the  road,  directly  in  front  of  the  royal  horses.  With 
a  sharp  exclamation  Belshazzar  drew  up  his  reins. 
Catching  sight  of  the  Greek's  face,  however,  and 
recognizing  it,  he  paused  to  listen  when  Charmides 
spoke. 

"Lord  prince  of  the  Great  City — live  forever!"  he 
began,  formally.  "There  was  to-day  an  attempt  upon 
the  most  royal  life  of  the  prince  my  lord." 

Belshazzar  stared  a  little.     "How,  Greek?" 

"  As  the  royal  chariot  drove  along  the  top  of  Nimitti- 
Bel,  a  man,  one  of  the  subjects  of  my  lord,  made  en 
deavor  to  fell  him  by  a  shot  from  a  sling.  I,  pulling 
his  sleeve  at  the  moment,  caused  the  stone  to  fly  wide 
of  the  mark.  When  next  my  lord  drives  it  may  be 
that  I  shall  not  be  at  hand." 

Belshazzar  looked  quizzically  into  the  face  of  him 
who  spoke  these  laconic  words.  But  he  found  no 
guile  in  the  emaciated  face.  Instead,  there  was  some 
thing  there  that  roused  his  interest.  "Mount  beside 
me,  Greek.  I  have  not  forgotten  thee.  Thou  shalt 
return  with  me  to  the  palace." 

Charmides  refused.  He  had  no  desire  for  a  cross- 
examination  on  the  subject  that  he  had  detailed  as 
fully  as  he  intended  to  the  prince.  All  efforts  on  Bel- 
shazzar's  part  to  induce  him  to  come  were  in  vain. 
Therefore,  seeing  that  Charmides  would  have  his  way, 


412  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Belshazzar  did  what  he  could  for  the  very  apparent 
signs  of  pecuniary  distress  in  the  youth's  appearance. 
Detaching  from  his  neck  a  golden  chain  wrought  with 
well-cut  gems,  he  silently  held  it  out  to  the  Greek. 

Charmides  was  much  displeased.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  he  had  ever  needed  a  gift,  and  therefore  the 
thought  of  taking  this  one  shamed  him.  "  My  words, 
0  prince,  were  not  a  suit  for  gifts." 

"Thy  wife/'  suggested  Belshazzar,  inconsequently. 

A  flicker  passed  through  the  Greek's  eyes,  but  he 
did  not  waver.  "My  lord,  I  shall  probably  re-enter 
the  priesthood." 

"  I  think  thee  no  such  enemy  to  me.  Come  into  my 
regiment  of  Gutium." 

"Nay.  I  cannot  fight.  I  will  have  no  blood  on 
my  hands.  I  follow  music  alone;  and  music  forbids 
murder." 

Belshazzar  laughed  slightly  at  the  fellow's  incom 
prehensible  attitude.  "Go  back,  then,  to  temple  ser 
vice.  I  will  trust  thee  there,"  he  said,  good-naturedty. 
"  And  now,  the  name  of  him  that  would  have  had  my 
life?" 

Charmides  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  and  then  closed 
them  again.  "  Ask  me  not.  Only  beware  and  guard 
thyself." 

The  king  bent  his  brows.  "Greek,  hast  thou  lied 
to  me?" 

"No,  lord  prince." 

Belshazzar  shrugged.  "Out  of  my  way,  then!"  he 
cried.  And  Charmides  stepped  quickly  out  of  the  road 
while  the  king  brought  his  whip  over  the  haunches 
of  his  steeds  and  started  forward,  tossing,  as  he  went, 
the  chain  of  gold  at  the  feet  of  the  Greek.  Nor  was 
he  ungenerous  enough  to  cast  a  single  backward 
glance  to  see  whether  or  no  the  hungry  fellow  picked 
it  up. 

So  Belshazzar  proceeded  on  his  way  back  to  the  pal 
ace,  musing  rather  on  the  incident  of  his  little  talk  with 


>THE    WOMAN'S   WOE  413 

Charmides  than  upon  its  subject — the  attempt  on  his 
life.  More  than  this  one  time,  and  in  more  dangerous 
ways  than  a  sling-shot  at  a  hundred  yards,  he  had 
been  threatened  with  death.  Those  very  drives  round 
the  walls  carried  with  them  the  possibility  of  a  far 
more  frightful  end.  But  Belshazzar's  was  an  ad 
venturous  nature.  And  danger  was  his  life,  a  life 
that  the  city's  state  of  quiescence  had  once  led  him 
to  seek  by  other  than  reputable  paths. 

On  his  arrival  at  the  palace  he  went  immediately 
to  Istar's  rooms,  determined  to  tell  her  nothing  of 
the  event  of  the  afternoon,  for  her  fears  for  his  per 
sonal  safety  would  be  thereby  enormously  increased. 
But  when  he  came  to  her  he  found  another  subject 
ready  to  occupy  all  his  thoughts.  Istar  was  not  watch 
ing  for  him  at  the  door,  as  wa's  her  invariable  custom. 
Instead,  he  found  her  hanging  over  the  bed  on  which 
her  baby  lay  ill — so  ill  that  Belshazzar,  on  first  see 
ing  it,  turned  pale  for  Istar's  sake.  And  the  look 
that  he  found  in  her  face,  when,  with  a  glad  cry  that 
he  had  come,  she  turned  it  to  him,  sent  a  pang  to  his 
heart. 

Istar's  child,  the  fruit  of  her  earth-love,  had  cost 
her  her  godhead,  but  had  returned  her  joy  a  thou 
sandfold  dearer  than  divinity  had  been.  Only  now,  as 
she  stood  bending  over  the  helpless  little  form,  rack 
ed  as  it  was  with  mortal  pain,  did  the  greatest  world- 
horror,  the  horror  of  death,  first  lay  its  hold  upon  her. 
The  thought  that  this  little  being  whom  she  had 
brought  into  the  world — wjtiom,  day  and  night  since 
its  coming  she  had  cherished  with  an  all-powerful 
love  and  joy  —  could  die,  could  cease  to  live  for  her 
forever,  rushed  over  her  as  the  waters  close  over  the 
head  of  a  drowning  woman. 

Until  an  hour  before  the  coming  of  Belshazzar,  Istar 
had  been  alone  with  the  child,  believing  it  to  be  suffer 
ing  from  some  infantine  ailment.  But  finally  the 
little  creature's  fever  was  so  manifestly  high,  and  its 


414  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

distress  so  great,  that  she  had  commanded  the  at 
tendance  of  the  new  rab-mag,  a  man  widely  cele 
brated  for  the  potency  of  his  charms.  He  came  at 
once,  examined  the  baby  from  head  to  foot,  and  noted 
certain  things  that  caused  him  to  turn  to  the  mother 
with  a  look  of  deep  anxiety. 

"Great  lady,"  he  said  to  her,  "thou  wilt  do  well  to 
leave  this  child  alone,  though  before  dawn  it  die.  I, 
Kidish-Nindar,  say  it.  Accept  my  words,  and  put  the 
child  from  thee  for  the  sake  of  the  Great  City  over 
which  thy  husband  rules!" 

Then  Istar,  in  fear  and  amazement — quickly  and 
sharply  dismissed  the  man  from  her  presence  and  turn 
ed  again  to  the  infant,  that  lay  now  in  a  quiet  stu 
por.  It  was  so  that  Belshazzar  found  her,  wetting  the 
child's  forehead  with  he'r  tears,  pouring  forth  mingled 
prayers  and  the  incoherent,  birdlike  talk  of  a  mother, 
while  her  own  face  took  on  the  color  of  chalk,  and 
her  eyes  were  bright  with  a  dread  to  which  she  would 
not,  even  to  herself,  give  form. 

The  king,  for  a  moment,  took  her  place  over  the 
infant,  and  stood  regarding  him  while  Istar  told  the 
story  of  the  rab- mag's  desertion.  Belshazzar  would 
have  commanded  his  return  had  not  the  mother  for 
bidden  it.  But  when  his  displeasure  had  cooled  a 
little,  the  king  began  to  ponder  over  the  evident  fear 
of  Kidish-Nindar;  and  finally,  bidding  Istar  remain 
where  she  was,  he  took  the  child  in  his  arms,  carried 
it  across  the  room,  and  seated  himself  with  it  upon  his 
knees  directly  under  a  light.  His  back  was  turned  to 
the  divan,  and  Istar  did  not  see  what  he  did.  When 
he  had  finished  his  examination  and  carried  the  faintly 
moaning  child  back  to  its  place,  he  went  over  to  her, 
and  she  could  not  but  start  with  dismay  at  the  ghastly 
pallor  that  had  come  upon  him.  Rising,  she  laid  both 
hands  upon  his  arm,  looking  silently,  wistfully,  into 
his  sad  eyes. 

"My  lord!"  she  whispered,  fear  unlocking  her  lips. 


THE    WOMAN'S    WOE  415 

Belshazzar,  knowing  the  ineffable  tenderness  of 
her  motherhood,  could  not  tell  her  what  he  knew.  He 
said  only :  "  Beloved,  we  will  watch  together  through 
the  night." 

But  before  that  watch  began  Belshazzar  left  Istar's 
rooms  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour  while  he*  sought 
the  apartment  of  Kidish-Nindar.  The  rab-mag  was 
frantically  purifying  his  body  and  repeating  mingled 
prayers  and  exorcisms,  in  the  hope  of  warding  off  that 
which  he  so  unspeakably  dreaded.  The  king,  by 
means  of  threats  and  bribes  adroitly  alternated,  ex 
torted  from  the  man  an  oath  of  silence,  and  then  left 
him  grovelling  on  his  knees  before  an  image  of  Sin, 
while  he,  the  king  of  Babylon,  returned  to  the  vigil  of 
his  child. 

Through  the  long  night  they  sat  together,  man  and 
wife,  by  the  bedside  of  the  child.  Together  they 
watched  the  progress  of  that  terrible  disease  of  which 
Istar  was  so  happily  ignorant.  Together  they  saw 
the  flame  of  life  struggle  with  the  suffocating  darkness 
in  which  it  burned.  And  they  saw  the  little  light 
grow  feebler,  and  the  flame  flutter  in  the  wind  that 
came  across  the  dark  valley  of  the  beyond.  Istar's 
brain  reeled  and  her  heart  grew  sick.  Still,  as  she 
sat  with  her  gaze  fixed  on  the  drawn  face  of  the  child, 
unconscious  that  Belshazzar's  eyes  were  always  upon 
her,  she  refused  to  believe  what  was  too  apparent. 

And  there  came  a  time  in  the  early  dawn  when  the 
mother  could  hold  away  no  longer.  Lifting  the  baby 
from  its  place,  she  clasped  it  close  to  her  breast,  carried 
it  across  to  the  soft  divan,  and  lay  down  with  the  little, 
fever-flushed  body  pressed  warm  over  her  heart.  In 
this  position  her  eyes,  weary  with  the  long  vigil,  closed ; 
and  while  she  slept  the  day  broke.  Belshazzar  re 
mained  close  at  her  side  to  watch  the  end  alone.  He 
could  not  have  told  what  it  was  that  caused  him  to 
lift  up  his  hands  there  in  the  faint  light,  groping  for 
something  to  which  to  cling,  for  some  higher  power 


416  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

that  should  ease  the  terrible  aching  of  his  heart.  Sud 
denly  the  world  had  become  a  vast  waste,  and  he  was 
in  it  alone,  helpless  and  unutterably  weary.  And  it 
was  still  without  the  hand  of  God  to  help  him  that  he 
saw  the  end  come — the  death  of  Istar's  happiness  and 
of  his  own.  It  was  while  Istar  still  quietly  slept  that 
the  white  shadow  passed  into  space.  And  the  woman 
awoke  to  find  Belshazzar's  hand  in  hers,  and  the  little 
body  lying  stiff  and  rigid  across  her  bosom. 

When  Istar  realized  what  had  happened  she  made 
no  outcry.  She  sat  clasping  the  lifeless  form  tighter 
to  her  own.  Tearless,  speechless,  motionless,  she  sat 
alone  with  that  unbearable  thing  that  mortals  know  as 
the  death-sorrow.  Pitilessly  it  ate  its  way  into  her 
vitals.  She  forgot  everything  that  had  been  in  her 
heart  before.  She  was  unconscious  of  any  living  pres 
ence.  She  was  bereft — bereft — and  of  her  offspring. 
It  was  in  her  mind  to  curse  the  God  that  had  conceived 
such  suffering  and  put  it  upon  man.  And  then  there 
came  a  touch  upon  her  arm  that  stilled  all  her  re 
bellion.  Belshazzar's  tears  fell  hot  upon  her  cheek. 
Without  a  word  she  lifted  up  to  him  the  baby  that 
was  also  his  :  and,  when  he  took  it  in  his  arms,  she  crept 
again  over  to  the  pillows,  and  as  she  laid  her  face  among 
them,  the  blessed  tears  came  forth,  and  she  could  weep. 

How  long  she  lay  there  no  one  knew.  Belshazzar 
had  carried  away  the  body — the  little  body  that  had 
been  hers;  and  when  he  returned  to  her  he  brought 
a  cup  of  wine.  The  child  was  gone.  As  he  lifted 
her  up  in  his  arms  she  asked  a  mute  question  with 
her  eyes,  and  he  answered  her  softly: 

"The  baby,  most  beloved,  is  gone.  Our  eyes  may 
not  again  behold  him.  Some  day — some  day — " 
he  got  no  further.  For  an  instant  Istar  had  looked 
at  him  in  a  dull,  meaningless  sort  of  way.  Then, 
no  longer  knowing  what  she  did,  her  nerves  suddenly 
giving  way,  she  threw  herself  upon  him  in  blind  anger, 
struggling  like  one  gone  mad,  crying  that  he  had 


THE    WOMAN'S    WOE  417 

stolen  her  child  from  her,  screaming  till  her  voice  was 
gone  and  her  strength  gave  way,  and  she  fell  into 
his  arms  a  helpless,  lifeless  form. 

Later  in  the  day,  when,  with  invincible  patience 
and  tenderness,  he  had  soothed  her  into  quietude  and 
had  gone  forth  to  his  inevitable  duties,  Baba  came — 
Baba,  who,  since  her  day  in  the  house  of  figibi,  had 
been  Istar's  constant  companion. 

Baba  had  come  to  love  Istar's  child  almost  as  Istar 
herself  loved  it.  When,  therefore,  the  little  slave  first 
came  to  the  mother,  she  could  speak  no  words  of  com 
fort.  Her  tears  flowed  faster  than  Istar's  own,  and  she 
could  only  grieve  beside  the  queen.  Yet  in  some  way 
this  human  woe  brought  to  Istar's  lonely  heart  its  first 
breath  of  comfort  and  of  hope.  In  the  evening  she  be 
gan  to  speak  to  Baba  of  many  half-forgotten  things — 
of  her  own  mysterious  birth,  of  her  dim  remembrances 
of  a  great  preceding  existence,  of  those  beings  that 
had  sometimes  come  to  her  on  earth  from  space.  In 
the  last  few  weeks  Istar  had  become  almost  utterly 
oblivious  of  her  one-time  divinity.  Natural  life  and 
natural  love  had  so  blunted  her  former  faculties  of 
perception  that  the  past  remained  only  as  a  misty 
background  to  her  life.  Yet  as  her  mind  struggled 
to  pierce  the  mists  that  hid  from  her  the  glory  of  by 
gone  days,  a  longing  was  born  within  her  heart — a 
longing  ill-defined,  yet  so  strong  that  she  made,  per 
force,  painful  efforts  to  formulate  it. 

"I  have  beheld  the  glory  of  the  setting  sun — the 
pale  light  of  the  newly  risen  moon.  The  murmur  of 
waters  came  to  me  as  I  slept.  I  beheld  great  lakes 
and  white  palaces,  and  high  towers  shining  in  the 
morning  light.  The  scent  of  the  lotus  filled  the  air, 
and  the  rustle  of  the  wind  was  in  the  palm-trees.  Tell 
me,  my  Baba — tell  me  that  for  which  I  thirst!  Tell 
me  the  great  desire  of  my  heart!  Tell  me,  oh  my 
Baba,  where,  in  the  same  hour,  have  I  known  all  these 

perfect  things?" 
27 


4i8  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Baba,  gazing  at  her  with  the  big,  wondering  eyes 
that  had  never  in  all  her  little  life  shone  with  the 
light  of  complete  happiness,  understood  the  words  of 
her  golden  lady.  "I  will  bring  the  great  comfort  to 
thee,"  she  said.  "Wait  till  I  come  again/'  And,  ris 
ing,  she  left  the  palace. 

Through  two  still  hours  Istar  waited  there  with 
her  heart-sorrow,  trusting  in  Baba  to  bring  that  for 
which  she  thirsted.  And  at  last,  when  she  had  grown 
weary  with  waiting,  Baba  came  again,  and  with  her 
some  one  else — Charmides,  with  his  burnished  hair  and 
his  pale,  gaunt  face,  carrying  his  lyre  in  his  hand. 
With  a  silent  obeisance  to  Istar,  he  stood  off  at  a  little 
distance,  and,  opening  his  lips,  began  to  sing. 

Then,  indeed,  came  the  glory  of  the  setting  sun,  the 
pale  light  of  the  newly  risen  moon,  with  the  whisper 
of  waters  and  the  shining  gold  of  great  lakes.  And 
around  fair  white  towers  and  palaces  hung  the  scent 
of  lotus  flowers,  and  the  murmur  of  the  evening  wind 
was  in  the  palm-trees.  All  things  far  and  beautiful 
came  home  in  the  same  hour  to  Istar 's  senses.  And 
as  he  sang  again,  the  tears  of  mingled  joy  and  woe 
flowed  from  her  eyes.  Once  more,  and  music,  which 
is  divine,  opened  divinity  again  before  her  vision,  and 
she  rose  up  transfigured,  crying : 

"  Allaraine !  Allaraine !  Mine  eyes  behold  thee  once 
again!" 

Then  the  moment  of  fire  faded,  and  she  was  alone 
with  only  Charmides  and  his  careworn,  ethereal  face, 
singing  on  in  the  fragrant  accents  of  his  Sicilian  land, 
till  Istar's  passion  faded  gently  away,  and  she  smiled 
a  little,  and  her  eyelids  grew  heavy  with  sleep.  Pres 
ently  her  flower-like  head  drooped  forward.  The  frail, 
white  hands  fell  from  where  they  had  been  clasped 
upon  her  breast.  Baba  drew  her  down  upon  the  di 
van,  and  when  Charmides'  voice  died  at  length  away, 
a  great  silence  was  in  the  room.  Baba  and  the  Greek 
were  alone  together.  Charmides  stood  transfixed,  his 


THE    WOMAN'S    WOE  4*9 

eyes  fastened  upon  the  sleeping  figure  of  her  whom  he 
had  once  worshipped.  He  was  roused  from  the  look 
by  a  touch  on  his  hand.  Baba  was  kneeling  at  his 
side,  and  her  lips  were  pressed  to  the  fingers  that 
had  touched  the  magic  lyre-strings,  bringing  peace  to 
the  soul  of  Istar  of  Babylon. 

And  thereafter  ten  days  passed  away,  and  it  was 
the  time  of  the  great  yearly  feast  of  Tammuz,  the  beau 
tiful  god  of  spring. 


XVIII 
THE    FEAST   OF    TAMMUZ 

THE  midsummer  month,  Abu,  dedicated  to  the 
"Queen  of  the  Bow,"  was  ushered  in  with  heat 
intense,  suffocating,  and  unendurable.  The  second 
day  of  the  month  was  the  sixteenth  of  the  siege — 
so-called.  The  camp  of  the  Elamite  remained  per 
fectly  passive.  No  preparations  for  fighting  had  been 
made,  neither  battering-ram  nor  catapult  constructed, 
not  an  arrow  let  fly  from  the  bow,  not  a  pebble  from 
the  sling.  The  great  body  of  stout  warriors  from  the 
vigorous  north  remained  in  demoralizing  idleness, 
broiling  in  their  tents,  sleeping  by  day,  living  and 
suffering  at  night,  while  the  city  they  coveted  lay 
quiet,  half  lifeless,  on  the  plain  before  them. 

The  time  had  come  for  the  great  religious  festival 
celebrated  each  year  in  the  Babylonian  temples  by 
priest,  king,  and  people,  in  honor  of  Istar's  murdered 
spouse,  Tammuz,  the  young  god  of  spring,  slain  by 
the  fierce  bolts  of  high-riding  Shamash.  This  feast 
was  of  three  days'  duration,  and  began  at  the  hour  of 
the  first  sacrifice  on  the  morning  of  the  second  of  the 
month.  It  was  the  most  important  festival  in  the 
calendar,  and  never  yet  in  the  history  of  the  city  had 
its  celebration,  for  any  reason  whatsoever,  been  neg 
lected.  And  this  year  the  royal  decree  concerning  it 
was  issued  as  usual. 

In  the  week  that  preceded  the  prospective  holiday, 
however,  the  lord  of  Babylon  was  subject  to  some 
unaccountable  forebodings  with  regard  to  this  feast. 


THE    FEAST    OF    TAMMUZ       421 

Outwardly,  as  any  one  could  see,  the  city  was  quiet 
enough.  Inwardly  it  seethed.  This,  of  course,  Bel- 
shazzar  knew.  But  of  the  extent  or  the  trend  of  the 
plot,  neither  he  nor  any  of  his  partisans  was  aware. 
His  ears  could  not  hear  what  was  talked  of  at  noon 
in  the  houses  of  Zicaru.  His  eyes  could  not  see  the 
well-hidden  rooms  in  which  priests  and  people  met  to 
talk  over  wrongs  that  the  citizens  had  never  thought 
of  before,  but  which  their  indefatigable  preceptors 
skilfully  pointed  out  to  them.  Nor  did  Belshazzar 
much  heed  the  harangues  that  daily  followed  morn 
ing  sacrifice  in  every  temple.  He  hardly  noticed  how 
immense  were  the  crowds  in  attendance  at  sacrifice 
now;  and  those  of  the  lords  and  the  soldiers  that  did 
notice,  refused  to  think  lucidly,  but  put  it  all  down  to 
anxiety  over  the  siege  and  a  wish  to  propitiate  the 
gods.  Still,  blind,  deaf,  utterly  insensible  as  were  the 
king  and  all  his  councillors  to  the  only  open  evidences 
of  treachery  in  the  city,  there  was  no  one  of  them  that 
did  not,  however  vaguely,  feel  treachery  in  the  air,  and 
dread  accordingly. 

In  the  days  between  the  fall  of  Sippar  and  the  feast, 
Nabonidus  had  not  once,  so  far  as  his  son  knew,  been 
inquired  for  by  man,  woman,  or  priest  in  the  Great 
City.  If  anything  were  said  in  the  palace  it  was  in 
whispers  too  careful  to  reach  the  royal  ears.  Belit- 
sum,  still  overcome  by  the  prophet's  dream,  had  gone 
into  an  uncertain  retirement;  but  the  remainder  of  the 
harem  went  thoughtlessly  and  light-heartedly  about 
their  occupations,  adding  to  their  usual  aimless  lives 
the  pleasure  of  preparing  for  the  great  holiday,  now 
so  near  at  hand. 

The  demi-god  Tammuz,  beloved  of  the  love- goddess 
(as  Spring  and  Love  have  been  forever  wedded  in  myth 
and  song)  had  no  proper  place  of  worship  in  Babylon. 
His  romantic  death,  however,  was  celebrated  in  every 
temple  of  the  city  and  the  suburbs  on  the  same  days. 
From  time  immemorial  it  had  been  the  custom  for  the 


422  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

royal  household — men,  women,  children,  slaves,  offi 
cers,  and  servants — to  remove  into  the  great  hall  of 
the  temple  of  Bel-Marduk,  where  the  high-priest  was 
accustomed  to  officiate.*  Here  for  three  days  they  re 
mained,  engaged  in  mingled  prayer  and  revelry,  the 
one  forbidden  refreshment  being  that  only  one  which 
could  betoken  forgetfulness  of  the  gods  and  the  pur 
poses  of  the  feast — sleep. 

In  consequence  of  this,  for  a  week  after  the  festival 
of  the  death  of  Spring,  the  Great  City  was  wont  to 
wear  the  aspect  of  a  city  of  the  dead ;  for  every  one  in 
it  moved  out  from  the  temple  in  which  he  had  cele 
brated  the  great  event,  straight  to  his  bed,  and  there 
remained  till  his  vitality  was  restored  to  him. 

According  to  custom,  then,  on  the  night  of  the  first 
of  July  Babylon  was  in  a  ferment  of  activity.  Houses 
were  preparing  for  temporary  desertion,  stripped  of 
costly  hangings  and  furniture,  which  were  stowed 
where  they  might  be  out  of  reach  of  sacrilegious  ma 
rauders,  while  holiday  garments  and  ornaments,  the 
costliest  that  each  household  could  afford,  were  mak 
ing  ready  for  wear  on  the  morrow.  In  every  garden 
garlands  were  woven.  In  the  temples,  priests  and  eu 
nuchs  were  at  work  setting  up  tables  and  divans, 
hanging  flower-ropes  and  wreaths  over  the  images  of 
Tammuz  that  were  placed  in  each  house  of  worship. 
All  night  chariots  rattled  through  the  streets,  and  men 
shouted  to  each  other  from  house  to  house.  Great 
droves  of  bullocks  and  goats,  and  immense  numbers 
of  fowls  and  doves,  were  conveyed  to  the  temporary 
sheds  erected  on  each  temple-platform,  in  anticipation 
of  the  needs  of  the  sacrifices.  To  the  casual  observer 
everything  might  have  appeared  exactly  as  usual. 
There  was  none  to  know  how  many  secret  weapons 
were  slipped  into  the  broad  girdles  of  the  citizens'  holi 
day  dresses.  There  was  none  to  wonder  why,  at  some 

*An  historical  fact. 


THE    FEAST    OF    TAMMUZ        423 

time  between  midnight  and  dawn,  a  Zicari,  or  some 
member  of  the  priesthood,  stopped  at  almost  every 
house  in  the  common  quarters  to  whisper  certain 
final  instructions  in  the  ear  of  the  householder.  And 
from  the  great  height  of  Nimitti-Bel,  the  members 
of  the  city  guard  failed,  in  the  darkness,  to  per 
ceive  that  the  black  camp  of  the  invader  was  not  at 
rest. 

There  were  two  men  in  Babylon  aware  of  all  these 
things,  and  these  two  sat  together,  like  spiders  in  the 
great  web  of  their  spinning,  watching  throughout  that 
fervid  night.  They  were  in  the  house  of -the  high-priest 
of  Bel,  on  the  east  side  of  the  A-Ibur-Sabu;  and  one 
of  them  was  Amraphel,  the  master  of  the  house,  while 
the  other  was  Beltishazzar  the  Jew.  They  did  not  talk, 
for  there  was  little  to  speak  of.  Their  plan  had  been 
long  in  the  making  and  was  perfect  at  last.  Every 
detail  was  at  the  finger-tips  of  both  of  them.  And  it 
had  been  only  a  consciousness  of  the  gigantic  conse 
quence  of  their  plan,  and  the  probable  monstrous  re 
sults  of  it,  that  made  its  originators  instinctively  draw 
together  on  the  eve  of  its  fulfilment.  Neither  of  them 
was  nervous  in  the  presence  of  the  other,  for  one  of 
these  men  perfectly  complemented  his  companion. 
The  great  intellect  and  the  talent  for  broad  strokes  of 
policy  that  had  made  Amraphel's  position  what  it 
was,  was  completed  by  the  abnormal  characteristics 
of  craft  and  foresight  possessed  by  the  Jew.  Am 
raphel's  courage  was  the  outcome  of  his  great  pride. 
Daniel's  bravery  was  that  of  the  enthusiast,  the  fanatic, 
the  leader  of  men — tempered  always  with  a  species  of 
cowardice,  the  cowardice  that  was  to  give  Babylon 
over  to  other  hands  than  his  for  government. 

Thus  here,  in  the  silent  interior  of  Amraphel's  vast 
palace,  sat  the  two  traitors,  inwardly  communing,  out 
wardly  silent,  throughout  the  long  night  of  the  first 
of  July,  while  Babylon  raged  within,  and  Belshazzar 
dreamed  feverishly  in  the  house  of  his  dead  father. 


424  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Morning — the  morning  of  the  second  of  Ab — dawned 
over  the  city.  On  the  lips  of  every  man  was  the  name 
of  Tammuz.  In  the  heart  of  every  man  were  the 
mingled  emotions  of  excitement,  of  dread,  of  vague  de 
sire.  The  palace  of  the  king  was,  early  in  the  day, 
the  scene  of  confused  preparation.  Only  one  person 
in  it  experienced  no  sensation  of  pleasurable  excite 
ment  at  the  prospect  of  the  coming  feast;  Istar,  still 
mourning  her  unspeakable  loss,  had  spent  the  night 
in  accustomed  grief,  to  which  this  time  something 
was  added — a  vague  sense  of  dread,  of  undefined  fore 
boding.  At  early  dawn,  before  the  palace  was  awake, 
Belshazzar  came  in  to  her,  and  his  eyes  were  dark 
with'  trouble.  Istar  looked  searchingly  into  his  face 
before  she  spoke. 

"  What  is  the  woe  of  my  lord?  Thou  hast  not  slept, 
Belshazzar?" 

"  Yea,  beloved,  I  have  slept — and  dreamed :  dreamed 
till  my  head  is  on  fire.  Let  thy  hands  cool  the  burning 
of  mine  eyes.  Let  thy  words  still  the  fears  that  are 
rising  in  my  heart.  Istar,  I  have  spoken  this  night 
with  the  spirit  of  my  father,  who  bade  me  welcome 
— home." 

Istar  gave  a  sharp  cry,  and  the  color  fled  from  her 
face. 

"It  was  a  vision,  a  wandering  dream;  and  yet  it 
has  brought  foreboding  in  its  train.  Bring  me  com 
fort,  Istar,  my  beloved." 

"  Comfort,  lord  of  my  heart !  Comfort !  Ah !  I  have 
none  of  it.  Since  my  baby  is  taken  from  me,  my  heart 
weeps.  0  Belshazzar,  thou  king,  let  us  not  ask  for 
comfort.  Let  us  rather  mingle  our  tears  before  the 
seat  of  God ;  and  from  our  grief  shall  spring  the  bless 
ing  of  the  divine  comfort.  My  heart  weeps.  Why, 
then,  should  my  lips  smile?  Thou,  dear  lord,  remain- 
est  to  me.  If  thou  wert  gone  I  should  not  weep,  for  with 
thee  my  life,  too,  would  go.  My  lord — my  lord — I  love 
thee  so!" 


THE    FEAST    OF    TAMMUZ        425 

Quickly  Belshazzar  caught  her  in  his  arms,  crush 
ing  her  to  him  in  an  embrace  wherein  all  their  earthly 
and  spiritual  love  mingled  together  in  one  supreme 
moment  of  ecstasy.  When  his  arms  unclosed,  both 
were  faint.  Istar  lay  back  upon  her  couch,  her  eyes 
shut,  her  breath  coming  with  difficulty ;  while  Belshaz 
zar  stood  over  her,  looking  down  at  her  beauty  with  a 
sudden  feeling  of  sweet,  ineffable  peace. 

Now  the  day  had  fully  broken,  and  the  whole  palace 
was  alive.  Belshazzar  took  tender  leave  of  his  wife, 
for  the  two  of  them  were  to  go  different  ways  to  the 
temple:  Istar  in  her  litter  with  the  members  of  the 
harem,  Belshazzar  in  his  golden  chariot,  by  the  side* 
of  the  high-priest. 

"My  lord  shall  see  me  clothed  all  in  black  and 
silver ;  nor,  through  the  three  days,  will  I  uncover 
my  face  before  the  eyes  of  those  assembled,"  whis 
pered  Istar,  as  he  knelt  for  the  last  instant  beside 
her. 

"On  the  evening  of  the  third  day,  beloved,  thou 
must  unveil.  Tarnmuz,  like  our  child,  is  dead;  yet 
in  their  grief  the  women  disclose  their  features.  So 
also  shalt  thou.  Now,  fare  thee  well — till  once  again 
we  are  alone  together  here." 

Istar  started  nervously,  and  then  rose  to  her  feet 
with  a  sudden  impulse.  "  Belshazzar,  wilt  thou  guard 
thyself  in  the  temple?  Wilt  thou  not  have  thy  men  of 
Gutium  at  thy  side?" 

"  How  had  you  known  that,  Istar?  Such  a  thought 
never  came  to  me  before ;  yet  now — this  year — I  have 
commanded  that  my  whole  regiment,  with  their  arms, 
be  gathered  together  in  the  temple  with  my  regular 
household.  Why  I  have  done  this  thing  I  myself 
know  not.  And  yet — and  yet — " 

Istar  put  her  arms  about  his  neck.  "  Let  the  great 
God  be  thanked!"  she  whispered,  earnestly.  "And 
I  also — I  also  will  be  with  thee.  If  harm  comes,  we 
shall  be  together  to  the  end." 


426  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Finally  Belshazzar  left  her  and  went  to  his  own 
rooms  to  see  that  all  preparations  for  the  great  feast 
were  made.  Istar,  in  the  mean  time,  covered  herself 
with  the  long,  black,  silver-shot  veil  that  she  had  worn 
in  the  days  of  her  loneliness;  and,  robed  only  in  this 
and  her  white  tunic,  without  jewel  or  ornament  of 
any  kind,  she  sat  alone  in  her  room  till  it  came  to 
be  the  time  of  setting  forth.  A  eunuch  announced 
that  her  litter  waited;  and,  attended  by  two  slaves 
with  fans,  she  walked  out  to  the  great  court-yard  of 
the  palace. 

Here,  indeed,  was  a  scene  of  the  liveliest  confusion. 
Men,  women,  children,  and  eunuchs  of  every  type, 
all  in  holiday  dress,  all  noisily  talking  and  laughing, 
moved  about  among  groups  of  chariots,  litters,  richly 
caparisoned  donkeys,  and  two  or  three  camels ;  for,  on 
the  way  to  and  from  the  feast,  the  meanest  slave  was 
never  asked  to  walk.  Istar  was  the  first  of  the  royal 
party  to  appear  in  the  court-yard,  and  her  mourning 
costume  created  much  comment  of  a  disappointed 
character.  Her  veiled  face  and  melancholy  gait  cast 
a  shadow  over  the  general  merriment  of  the  lower 
class,  among  whom,  indeed,  Istar  was  not  popular. 
Her  litter,  however,  was  quickly  brought  to  her,  and 
just  as  she  lay  down  in  it,  happy  to  be  out  of  sight, 
Belitsum,  the  dowager,  appeared.  Her  mood  was 
quite  different  from  that  of  her  quasi  daughter-in- 
law.  She  had  cast  aside  her  widow's  weeds,  as  was 
her  privilege,  for  the  three  feast-days;  and  her  stout 
person  was  gorgeously  arrayed.  A  band  of  flashing 
jewels  held  her  head-cloth  in  place  above  her  eye 
brows,  and  she  waddled  along  to  a  jingling  accom 
paniment  of  bells  that  were  fastened  on  her  ankles  and 
strings  of  dangling  beads  that  hung  from  her  waist. 
Her  laughter  sounded  high  and  shrill  as  she  tossed 
some  light-hearted  jest  to  the  line  of  attendants  that 
followed  her;  and  the  whole  court-yard  responded  to 
her  wit  with  mighty  roars  of  laughter.  Now,  indeed, 


THE    FEAST    OF    TAMMUZ        427 

Belitsum  was  in  her  element.  It  took  her  full  fifteen 
minutes  to  settle  herself  in  her  litter,  and  she  was 
only  then  finally  fixed  because  the  appearance  of 
Belshazzar  put  an  end  to  any  further  by -play  for 
the  benefit  of  the  on-lookers. 

Belshazzar  hastily  mounted  his  chariot,  and,  the 
signal  for  the  start  being  immediately  given,  there 
was  a  mad  scramble  for  vehicles,  donkeys,  and  camels, 
and  the  royal  procession  passed  through  the  gate  of 
the  palace. 

The  temple  of  Marduk,  in  which  the  king  kept  the 
feast  of  Tammuz,  was  the  largest  temple  in  Babylon, 
and  the  only  important  one  on  the  east  bank  of  the 
Euphrates.  At  the  other  end  of  the  great  bridge,  Am- 
raphel,  clad  in  the  fullest  insignia  of  his  office,  joined 
the  king  at  the  head  of  the  line  of  the  royal  house 
hold.  Their  way  led  along  the  Mutaqutu,  the  smaller 
of  Nebuchadrezzar's  two  boulevards;  and  it  was  lined 
with  people  that  risked  the  possibility  of  being  late  at 
the  opening  sacrifice  in  their  temples  in  order  to  see 
this  imposing  spectacle.  For  the  first  time  in  a  year 
Belshazzar  was  cheered  along  his  way.  And  there 
was  something  in  the  voices  of  the  people  that  went 
home  to  the  heart  of  the  uncrowned  king;  so  that, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  his  eyes  were  wet  with 
the  tears  of  love  that  royalty  should  feel  for  its 
children. 

One  incident  only  disturbed  the  dignity  of  the  march. 
Belitsum,  the  irrepressible,  had  barely  managed  to 
contain  herself  in  solitude  when  the  curtain  of  her 
litter  finally  shut  her  away  from  the  eyes  of  the  ad 
miring  throng.  But  now  she  was  consoled  by  the 
fact  that,  though  she  was  herself  unseen,  she  could 
comfortably  watch  the  crowd  that  lined  the  streets 
through  which  she  passed.  The  procession  was  more 
than  half-way  to  the  temple  when  her  sharp  eyes 
suddenly  caught  sight  of  a  man  that  stood  watch 
ing  the  procession  from  the  left  side  of  the  street. 


428  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Meanly  dressed  and  dull-eyed  as  he  was,  she  never 
theless  recognized  in  him  her  new  prophet,  the  man 
of  dreams. 

Quickly  thrusting  her  head  from  her  slow-moving 
equipage,  she  cried  to  one  of  her  bearers,  pointing  at 
the  same  time  to  the  object  of  her  curiosity: 

"Shusu-Sin!  Shusu-Sin!  Who  is  that  man  there 
— he  of  the  brown  tunic  and  the  rose -topped  cane? 
Speak!" 

The  bearer  glanced  round  in  an  embarrassed  fash 
ion  as  the  crowd  craned  forward  to  look  at  the  queen. 
He  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  the  man  she  des 
ignated.  Then,  leaning  backward,  towards  the  wait 
ing  ear  of  the  dowager,  he  whispered,  discreetly: 

"He  on  whom  the  eyes  of  the  queen  have  deigned 
to  rest  is  Beltishazzar  the  Jew,  called  of  his  people 
Daniel." 

"A  Jew!"  cried  Belitsum,  in  amazement.  Then, 
catching  the  innumerable  eyes  fixed  upon  her  in  won 
der  or  in  amusement,  she  dove  hastily  back  into  her 
litter,  carrying  with  her  the  long-desired  knowledge. 

Meantime,  at  the  head  of  the  procession  drove  Bel- 
shazzar  and  Amraphel,  side  by  side,  in  their  golden 
chariots.  Beyond  the  requisite  first  salutation,  neither 
of  them  had  spoken  on  the  whole  way,  till,  at  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  before  the  time  set  for  the  first  sacrifice, 
the  royal  vehicles  halted  in  the  great  square  of  Mar- 
duk.  Here  was  something  at  sight  of  which  Amraphel 
started  anxiously.  In  that  square,  south  of  the  main 
entrance  of  the  temple,  drawn  rank  on  rank  in  match 
less  array,  spear,  helmet,  and  sword  flashing  in  the 
sun,  was  Belshazzar's  guard,  the  famous  regiment 
of  Gutium.  They  had  been  waiting  here  all  the  morn 
ing,  under  command  of  their  lieutenant,  at  the  orders 
of  their  commander.  And  now,  as  the  king  drew  near, 
they  made  the  royal  salute,  and  quietly  closed  ranks 
in  preparation  for  marching.  Belshazzar,  giving 
them  a  long,  sweeping  salute,  suddenly  halted  his 


THE    FEAST    OF    TAMMUZ        429 

chariot.  The  high-priest,  in  extreme  anxiety,  did  the 
same.  Then  the  king  shouted  three  orders,  all  of 
them  barely  comprehensible  to  a  civilian.  But  Am- 
raphel's  ears  were  sharp;  his  wits  sharper.  At  the 
last  command  his  face  grew  crimson  with  anger. 

"What  means  this?"  he  asked,  hoarsely,  turning 
on  the  king.  "Think  you  these  dogs  shall  be  ad 
mitted  to  the  holy  temple?" 

Belshazzar  barely  turned  his  head  towards  the 
speaker.  "What  sayest  thou?"  he  asked,  coolly. 

"  It  is  against  the  laws  of  the  gods  that  armed  men 
should  enter  into  their  places  of  worship." 

"I  had  not  heard  it,"  returned  the  king.  "And  it 
is  my  will  that  this,  my  regiment,  follow  me  into  the 
temple.  How  " — suddenly  he  turned  full  on  the  priest 
— "  how  wilt  thou  gainsay  me?" 

Amraphel  drew  back  into  himself.  What  had  Bel 
shazzar  heard?  How  much  did  he  know?  Could  he 
indeed,  with  this  handful  of  soldiers,  hold  that  temple 
of  Marduk  against  the  army  of  Cyrus  and  the  Baby 
lonish  mob?  It  was  a  question  that  was  not  easy 
to  answer.  Do  what  he  would,  Amraphel  was  for  the 
moment  sorely  nonplussed.  He  could  see  nothing  for 
it  but  to  submit.  It  was  thorough  defeat;  for,  fifteen 
minutes  later,  fifty  members  of  the  priesthood,  the 
whole  of  the  royal  household,  and  the  regiment  of 
Gutium,  five  hundred  strong,  had  entered  the  temple 
of  Bel-Marduk. 

Almost  incredibly  vast  was  the  great  hall  of  this, 
the  greatest  temple  of  the  first  of  Babylon's  twelve 
great  gods.  In  it  the  seven  hundred  people  that  en 
tered  found  plenty  of  room — more  than  enough  room 
to  spread  themselves  about  at  will.  The  vast  walls, 
which  towered  up  to  a  tremendous  height,  were  richly 
adorned  in  the  lower  half  with  bas-reliefs  illustrating 
various  religious  myths :  the  council  of  the  gods ;  Bel- 
Marduk's  combat  with  Tiamat  the  dragon ;  and  Oan- 
nes  the  fish-god,  giver  of  wisdom,  expounding  religion 


430  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

to  the  throngs  of  people  that  came  down  to  hear  him 
on  the  shores  of  the  gulf  of  the  setting  sun.  Above 
these  sculptures  ran  bands  of  history,  in  the  immacu 
late  cuneiform,  giving  the  story  of  Babylon  from  the 
time  of  her  founding  down  to  to-day.  Still  over  this, 
on  the  enamelled  tiles  that  carried  the  walls  on  up  to 
the  dim  and  shadowy  roof,  were  the  decorations  for 
the  feast.  Great  cloths  of  silk  and  muslin,  elaborately 
and  beautifully  embroidered,  fell,  softly  luminous,  in 
the  glowing  light.  Ropes  of  flowers  were  everywhere 
festooned;  and  their  fragrance  alone  would  have  ren 
dered  the  air  rich.  Their  breath,  however,  vied  with 
streams  of  incense,  with  showered  perfumes,  with 
fragrance  of  the  sweet  myrrh  and  Indian  spices  that 
burned  along  the  walls  in  braziers  of  beaten  brass. 
Finally,  the  light  from  the  scene  itself  furnished  sweet 
ness  to  the  room;  for,  from  a  thousand  well- wrought 
hanging  -  lamps  came  flickering,  golden  flames,  fed 
with  the  rarest  perfumed  oil. 

The  preparations  for  the  feast  and  for  the  innumer 
able  sacrifices,  with  which  the  feasting  was  to  be  varied, 
had  been  carefully  made.  The  back  rooms  of  the 
temple  had  been  converted  indiscriminately  into  kitch 
ens,  larders,  and  stables  for  the  animals  to  be  used  for 
the  sacrifice.  Here  an  army  of  slaves  was  already  at 
work,  and  there  were  half  a  hundred  temple  eunuchs, 
clad  in  spotless  white,  with  collars  of  gold  and  caps 
of  Tyrian  purple,  to  minister  to  the  wants  of  the 
feasters. 

The  great  hall  had  been  prepared  with  infinite  care 
for  the  reception  of  the  worshippers.  In  the  back  of 
the  room,  facing  the  entrance,  and  raised  ten  feet 
above  the  floor,  was  the  platform  on  which  stood  the 
shrine  of  Tammuz.  On  the  broad  space  before  the 
holy  of  holies,  carpeted  with  rugs,  lighted  by  jewel- 
crusted  lamps,  were  the  divan  and  table  of  the  king, 
who  was  to  keep  this  place  during  the  three  days 
of  the  feast.  At  the  foot  of  the  steps  leading  up 


THE    FEAST    OF   TAMMUZ        43* 

into  this  high  place  was  the  sacrificial  altar,  on  which 
a  fire  was  kept  burning  continuously ;  and  to  the  right 
and  to  the  left  of  this  stood  other  images  of  Tammuz. 
Here,  for  six  hours  by  day  and  six  by  night,  was 
the  place  of  the  high-priest.  During  the  rest  of  the 
time  he  lay  above,  on  a  couch  beside  that  of  the  king, 
or,  if  he  chose,  moved  from  place  to  place  at  the 
long  tables  that  lined  the  walls  and  filled  the  central 
spaces  of  the  hall.  At  these  tables  rank  was  not  ob 
served,  and  the  lord  of  the  treasury  and  the  meanest 
slave  of  the  harem  might  be  found  side  by  side.  These 
matters,  however,  adjusted  themselves.  Men  sat  with 
their  chosen  friends,  or  moved  about  from  hour  to  hour 
as  they  wished,  while  the  women  generally  remained 
in  groups  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall. 

To-day  Ribata,  in  company  with  the  lords  of  the 
palace,  took  his  place  immediately  below  Belshazzar's 
platform,  while  his  slaves  were  just  beyond  them,  to 
the  right.  The  soldiers  of  Gutium  were  in  a  body  at 
the  end  of  the  hall,  lying  awkwardly  enough  on  their 
silken  couches,  and  dreaming  grimly  of  nights  in  the 
watch-towers  on  the  walls  when  they  feasted  accord 
ing  to  their  taste.  On  the  right  hand  of  the  great  hall, 
quite  alone,  at  a  solitary  table  under  the  figure  of  Bel 
on  the  wall,  sat  the  one  being  to  whom  this  festival 
was  not  a  thing  of  joy.  Istar,  veiled  from  head  to 
foot,  uncrowned,  unadorned,  unattended,  sat  alone 
on  her  couch,  gazing  straight  before  her,  wrapped  in 
grief  and  foreboding,  hearing  nothing  of  what  went 
on  about  her.  Belshazzar  from  his  place,  and  Baba 
from  where  she  mingled  with  the  slaves,  watched  her 
when  they  could ;  and  for  many  hours  that  day  it  seemed 
to  them  that  she  did  not  move;  and  their  bodies  grew 
weary  with  the  thought  of  how  she  stayed  there,  rigid 
and  untiring. 

As  soon  as  the  great  company  was  assembled  and 
each  had  found  a  place,  the  first  sacrifice  of  the  day 
was  made.  Two  under-priests  led  in  a  snow-white 


432  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

bullock  with  gilded  horns,  his  body  twined  with  lotus 
flowers  and  his  feet  bound  with  golden  chains. 

This  animal  was  led  once  round  the  room,  while 
every  one  rose,  prostrated  himself  before  it,  and  re 
mained  standing  through  the  whole  sacrificial  cere 
mony.  Amraphel  performed  the  slaughter  in  the 
name  of  Tammuz.  Then  a  short  incantation  was 
made.  The  blood  of  the  dead  creature  was  poured 
out  upon  the  altar,  and  the  carcass  was  then  carried 
away  to  be  flayed,  dressed,  and  cooked.  This  cere 
mony  formally  opened  the  festival,  and  it  was  fol 
lowed  by  a  loud  chant  led  by  the  priests,  in  which 
the  praises  of  Tammuz  and  Istar  were  set  forth.  In 
the  midst  of  this  singing  the  first  wine  was  brought. 
Flagon  after  flagon  of  the  purple  juice  of  Helbon,  of 
Lebanon,  of  Izalla,  of  Tuhimme,  of  Zimini,  and  of 
Opis  in  Armenia  was  emptied  down  the  eager  throats 
of  both  men  and  women.  Very  shortly  the  scene 
took  on  a  different  aspect.  Laughter  came  freely. 
Voices  rose  clearer  and  higher,  and  snatches  of  song 
echoed  under  the  high  roof.  The  music  of  the  lutes 
and  cymbals  caused  more  than  one  woman  to  rise 
and  fall  into  that  slow,  sinuous,  dreamy  posturing, 
called,  in  the  East,  dancing.  Many  sacrifices  followed. 
Goats  and  lambs  were  slaughtered  by  tens  and  twen 
ties.  Doves,  fastened  neck  to  neck  with  fine,  silver 
chains,  were  killed  off  by  the  hundreds :  timid,  flut 
tering  things,  reared  for  this  sacred  end  in  the  tem 
ple  towers,  but  unable,  in  their  folly,  to  realize  the 
worthiness  of  their  holy  martyrdom.  Amraphel  and 
his  under  -  priests  admirably  performed  their  tasks. 
Indeed,  Amraphel  seemed  doubly  impressive  to-day. 
His  men  were  exalted  with  their  wine,  and  everything 
but  the  affairs  of  the  hour  had  slipped  from  their 
thoughts. 

Only  Istar,  of  them  all,  looked  on  unmoved  and  sad. 
To-day  she  saw  her  lord  as  never  before,  crowning 
the  feast  in  all  the  splendor  of  his  royalty.  Never 


THE    FEAST    OF    TAMMUZ        433 

had  the  faultless  beauty  of  his  physique  impressed 
her  so.  He  stood  at  the  top  of  the  ten  steps,  directly 
in  front  of  the  arched  door-way  of  the  shrine,  three 
golden-robed  slaves  crouching  on  either  side  of  him, 
lifting  in  his  hands  a  yellow  cup  of  wine  that  he 
drank  to  the  men  of  his  guard,  to  the  regiment  of 
Guti.  His  purple  cloak,  wrought  with  long  scrolls 
of  burning  gold,  flowed  back  from  his  shoulders.  His 
superb  head,  its  black  locks  bound  about  with  a  twisted 
fillet  in  which  flashed  fifty  purple  amethysts,  was 
held  like  that  of  a  conqueror  on  the  day  of  his  greatest 
victory.  Istar  caught  the  flashing  of  the  storm-eyes, 
saw  the  lips  curve  with  his  deep  laughter,  watched  the 
gleaming  of  the  jewels  on  his  breast,  and  then,  as  he 
raised  the  cup  to  his  mouth,  she  sank  back  in  her  place, 
dizzy  and  sick  at  heart.  He  had  forgotten  as  she 
could  not  forget.  He  thought  no  more  of  the  little 
creature  he  had  watched  with  her,  that  had  lain  in 
his  arms  so  many  times  warm  and  breathing  with 
life,  and  that  had  been  so  lately  taken  from  him  in 
death.  And  at  that  thought  of  death  a  terrible  shud 
der  passed  over  her,  and  she  became  still  and  cold, 
and  intensely  weary  of  the  scene  of  revelry.  Slow 
ly  she  sank  back  into  a  reclining  position  on  her 
couch.  She  had  refused  every  proffered  dish  of  food, 
every  kind  of  wine.  Her  eyelids  closed  and  there 
came  over  her  a  kind  of  stupor,  in  which  she  lay 
for  many  hours.  It  was  not  sleep,  for  through  it  she 
could  hear  the  sounds  in  the  room,  could  distinguish 
Belshazzar's  voice  whenever  he  spoke,  and  always 
answered  the  slaves  that  came  reverently  to  waken 
her,  telling  them  that  she  knew  all  that  passed  as 
well  as  they  themselves.  And  yet  Istar  was  not  actu 
ally  in  that  room.  Nay,  she  could  feel  herself  alone, 
at  an  infinite  distance.  When,  after  a  long  period  she 
opened  her  eyes  again,  she  saw  the  scene  more  than 
ever  full  of  life.  The  lamps  glowed  brighter  than  be 
fore,  but  through  the  opening  far  in  the  roof  no  day- 
28 


434  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

light  came.  The  day  was  over.  Night  had  come. 
Istar  was  faint  for  food,  yet  she  rebelled  at  the  idea 
of  the  heavy,  half -cooked  flesh  served  in  this  room; 
and  she  thought  that  possibly,  in  the  rear  of  the  tem 
ple,  there  might  be  some  quiet  place  where  she  could 
break  bread  and  taste  of  fruit  and  wine  alone  and 
undisturbed.  With  this  thought  she  rose  quietly  and 
moved  across  to  the  foot  of  the  shrine,  on  the  platform 
of  which  Amraphel  and  Belshazzar  now  sat  side  by 
side.  Here,  moved  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  Istar  of 
Babylon  turned  to  look  back  on  the  scene  she  was 
leaving.  But  her  eyes,  first  raised,  did  not  return  to 
the  floor.  Instead,  she  stood  transfixed,  the  heart  in 
her  wildly  throbbing,  her  head  swimming  with  the 
overpowering  wonder  of  the  sight  that  met  her  eyes. 
Unconscious  of  what  she  did,  her  two  hands  drew  the 
enshrouding  veil  from  her  face,  and  then  there  rushed 
upon  her  vision  such  a  sight  as  she  had  never  thought 
to  see  again. 

In  the  air,  above  the  vast,  closed  doors,  hung  Alla- 
raine,  in  a  dazzling  cloud  of  glory,  his  form  all  but 
indistinguishable  in  the  palpitating  rays  of  his  aure 
ole.  He  was  without  his  lyre.  In  his  right  hand  he 
held  a  wand  of  molten  gold,  with  which  he  wrote  upon 
the  broad  space  over  the  doors.  He,  and  that  that 
he  wrote,  were  clearly  intelligible  to  Istar,  who  gazed 
on  him  unnoticed  in  her  place.  For  Allaraine  had 
come  for  her,  and  for  her  alone  was  writing  his  mes 
sage  there  upon  the  wall.  This  she  knew  from  the 
first. 

But  how  was  it  with  those  others  that  thronged  the 
hall?  Before  their  blinded  spiritual  eyes  all  that 
was  distinguishable  were  three  fingers  of  the  arche 
type's  hand,  and  the  unreadable  words  of  fire  that 
he  wrote.  Yet  these  were  enough:  infinitely  more 
than  enough.  Amraphel  and  Belshazzar  together, 
from  the  high  place,  first  saw  the  miracle;  and  from 
the  lips  of  the  king  broke  forth  a  cry,  a  cry  that 


THE    FEAST    OF    TAMMUZ        435 

stilled  every  voice  in  the  temple.  All  eyes  were  turned 
to  the  shrine,  and  beheld  the  dread  staring  of  Am- 
raphel,  whose  gaze  was  fixed  in  dumb  terror  on  the 
opposite  wall.  With  universal  accord  every  glance 
followed  his,  and  every  eye  beheld  the  gradual  fading 
of  the  hand  and  the  blazing  brilliance  of  the  writing 
that  was  left  upon  the  wall.  There  was  no  cry  from 
the  assemblage.  A  silence,  infinitely  more  impres 
sive  than  any  sound,  fell  upon  them.  For  five  long 
minutes  none  moved  or  spoke.  Istar  remained  un- 
perceived  in  her  place.  Trembling  and  dazed,  her 
lips  moved  noiselessly,  repeating  over  and  over  the 
words  that  were  written  before  her: 

"Hast  thou  found  man's  relation  to  God?  The 
silver  sky  waits  for  thy  soul." 

Again  and  yet  again  she  repeated  those  two  phrases 
to  herself,  till,  out  of  the  depths  of  the  long-past,  their 
meaning  came  home  to  her.  Then  a  faint  sigh  broke 
from  her  lips,  a  sigh  of  ineffable  weariness,  of  ineffable 
relief.  She  replaced  the  veil  over  her  face,  and,  gliding 
noiselessly  back  to  her  couch,  lay  down  upon  it  with 
her  new  knowledge,  giving  little  heed  to  all  that  fol 
lowed. 

The  voice  of  Belshazzar  broke  the  spell  hanging 
over  the  room.  His  tones  startled  the  company  like 
the  clarion  blast  of  a  trumpet,  as  he  cried:  "  Alchia! 
Balatul  Ubar!  Umaria!  Ye  prophets  of  the  great 
gods,  arise  and  come  before  me!" 

From  out  of  the  throng  of  feasters  rose  four  white- 
robed  men,  bare-headed  and  bare-footed,  prophets  of 
Nabonidus'  household.  Mechanically  obeying  the 
words  of  their  lord,  they  came  forth  and  stood  in  a 
row  before  the  steps  of  the  high  place. 

"Ye  that  are  professed  to  know  the  wishes  of  the 
gods,  interpret  now  to  us  that  which  is  written  upon 
the  wall." 

One  by  one  the  four  men  turned  and  scanned  the 
wall  with  its  flaming  text.  And  one  by  one  each  turned 


436  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

back  to  the  king  again,  saying,  helplessly :  "  0  prince, 
live  forever!  I  cannot  read  it!" 

Then  Belshazzar's  pale  face  became  tinged  with  red 
and  his  eyes  blazed  with  anger.  "Look  ye  again! 
I  say  that  honor  and  riches  and  great  power  shall  be 
his  that  interprets  these  words  upon  the  wall.  Look 
ye  again!" 

And  again  they  looked.  But  had  the  reward  for 
the  reading  been  the  kingdom  of  Babylonia,  not  one 
of  the  four  possessed  the  wit  or  the  courage  to  interpret 
to  the  master  that  which  was  unreadable  to  mortal 
eyes. 

When  it  was  seen  in  the  room  how  the  prophets 
had  failed  in  their  task,  the  murmurs  of  many  tongues 
began  to  be  heard  against  them.  The  whole  throng 
was  tremulous  with  awe  and  with  fear.  Amraphel 
himself  felt  it.  He  gazed  helplessly  at  Belshazzar, 
never  realizing  this  tremendous  opportunity,  never 
perceiving  that  no  situation  could  possibty  have  been 
more  desirable  than  this.  It  wras  from  a  wholly  un 
expected  source  that  help  came  to  his  cause.  In  the 
midst  of  the  dread  silence  that  had  gradually  over 
powered  the  people,  Belitsum  sprang  from  her  place, 
and,  hurrying  as  well  as  she  could  to  the  foot  of  the 
steps  leading  up  to  the  shrine,  cried  out  to  Belshaz 
zar: 

"0  king,  live  forever!  Let  not  thy  thoughts  trouble 
thee  nor  thy  countenance  be  changed.  There  is  a 
man  in  thy  kingdom  in  whom  is  the  spirit  of  the  great 
gods;  in  whom  was  found  light  and  understanding 
and  wisdom  in  the  days  of  thy  father's  father.  What 
hath  he  not  shown  thee  and  me  in  the  miracle  of  his 
dream?  Forasmuch  as  great  knowledge  and  under 
standing,  interpreting  of  dreams  and  showing  of  hard 
sentences  and  dissolving  of  doubts,  were  found  in 
Daniel,  called  Beltishazzar,  let  then  that  Daniel  be 
called,  and  he  will  show  the  interpreting  of  the  letters 
of  the  fiery  hand." 


THE    FEAST    OF    TAMMUZ        437 

Belshazzar  heard  his  step-mother  with  no  little 
amazement,  for  he  had  hardly  credited  her  with  either 
sense  or  knowledge.  But  her  words  recalled  to  him 
something  that  Nabonidus  had  once  said  to  him  re 
garding  this  same  man,  and  he  made  a  sudden  de 
termination  to  try  him  with  this  difficult  feat. 

"  Ina-shu-sin ! "  he  shouted  to  the  officer  of  his  house 
that  stood  on  guard  at  the  door.  "Let  the  door  of 
the  temple  be  opened.  Go  thou  forth  into  the  city 
and  find  him  that  is  called  Beltishazzar  the  Jew,  bring 
ing  him  back  to  the  temple.  Haste  thee!" 

The  man  had  not  time  to  acknowledge  the  com 
mand  when  Amraphel  turned  quickly  to  Belshazzar: 
"  Lord  prince,"  said  he,  softly,  "  the  man  Daniel  being 
well  known  to  the  priesthood,  send  thou  rather  a  tem 
ple  steward  to  find  him.  He  will  appear  before  thee 
very  shortly." 

Belshazzar  looked  searchingly  into  the  face  of  the 
high -priest,  but  he  failed  to  find  there  more  than 
a  warrantable  anxiety.  Therefore  he  replied:  "As 
thou  wilt,  Amraphel.  Ina-shu-Ibni,  let  rather  Baza 
of  the  temple  go  to  search  for  the  prophet ;  and  watch 
thou  for  them  from  the  door,  that  Daniel,  coming, 
may  quickly  enter." 

The  priest  Baza,  of  the  third  house  of  Zicaru,  put 
away  the  cups  that  he  bore,  and,  catching  Amraphel's 
sign,  made  his  obeisance  to  the  king  and  hurried  from 
the  temple.  Just  before  his  disappearance  Istar,  who 
had  watched  the  whole  scene  in  silence,  half  rose  from 
the  couch  to  which  she  had  returned,  as  if  she  would 
have  prevented  the  man's  departure.  For  a  second 
she  stood  quite  still  in  her  upright  position,  glancing 
from  the  letters  on  the  wall  to  Belshazzar's  face.  Then 
she  sank  back  on  her  couch  again  without  speaking ; 
and  as  her  head  once  more  touched  the  cushions, 
Baza  disappeared  into  the  night,  and  Ina-shu-Ibni 
shut,  but  did  not  fasten  after  him,  the  great  temple 
door. 


ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Fifteen  minutes  passed,  and  still  the  dazed  throng 
neither  spoke  nor  moved.  They  waited  for  him  who 
could  make  plain  to  them  the  mystery  or  the  miracle 
that  had  come  upon  the  feast.  At  the  end  of  this 
time  the  temple  door  once  again  softly  opened,  and 
a  man,  dark-robed,  bare-footed,  gaunt,  and  sharp-eyed, 
walked  into  the  room,  and  straight  to  the  foot  of  the 
steps  of  the  shrine.  Seeing  Belshazzar  and  Amraphel 
together  above  him,  he  made  obeisance  to  each,  and 
Belshazzar,  rising,  came  to  the  top  of  the  first  step, 
asking : 

"  Art  thou  that  Daniel  which  art  of  the  captivity  of 
Judah,  whom  the  great  king  my  father's  father  brought 
out  of  Jewry?" 

Daniel  bent  his  head. 

"  It  is  said  of  thee  that  the  spirit  of  the  gods,  light, 
wisdom,  and  understanding,  are  to  be  found  in  thee. 
Look  then,  thou  leader  of  Jews,  at  the  wall  yonder. 
Behold  what  is  written  on  it  in  letters  of  fire.  If  thou 
canst  interpret  those  strange  words,  honor  and  great 
riches  shall  be  to  thee.  Look  thou,  and  read." 

Obediently,  while  the  gaze  of  every  eye  in  the  room 
of  the  feast  was  fixed  upon  him,  Daniel  turned  and 
looked  over  the  door,  that  had  been  left  ajar,  and  saw 
the  signs  that  glowed  more  faintly  now  upon  the  bricks 
above.  For  many  seconds  he  stood  passive,  his  black 
brows  knit  under  the  stress  of  thought.  Amraphel 
grew  cold  with  nervousness.  His  lips  twitched  to 
give  the  signal  that  should  drown  this  incident  in 
the  flood  of  something  infinitely  greater;  and  he  was 
on  the  very  verge  of  crying  out  when  the  prophet  turned 
and  faced  the  king,  a  fire  of  emotion  burning  in  his 
eyes  and  in  his  cheeks.  When  he  opened  his  lips  the 
room  grew  breathless,  and  Istar,  shivering  in  irre 
pressible  fear,  hung  upon  his  words : 

"O  king,  the  most  high  God  gave  Nebuchadrezzar 
thy  forefather  a  kingdom,  and  majesty  and  glory  and 
honor.  And  for  the  majesty  that  he  gave  him  all 


THE    FEAST    OF    TAMMUZ        439 

people,  nations,  languages,  trembled  and  feared  before 
him.  Whom  he  would  he  slew;  and  whom  he  would 
he  kept  alive;  and  whom  he  would  he  set  up;  and 
whom  he  would  he  put  down.  But  when  his  mind 
was  lift  up  and  his  heart  was  hardened  in  pride,  he 
was  deposed  from  his  kingly  throne  and  they  took  his 
glory  from  him.  And  he  was  driven  forth  from  the 
sons  of  men.  His  heart  was  made  like  the  beasts,  and 
his  dwelling  was  made  with  wild  asses.  They  fed  him 
with  grass  like  oxen,  and  his  body  was  wet  with  the 
dew  of  heaven,  till  he  knew  that  the  most  high  God 
ruled  in  the  kingdom  of  men,  and  that  He  appointeth 
over  it  whomsoever  He  will. 

"  And  thou  his  descendant,  0  Belshazzar,  hast 
not  humbled  thine  heart,  though  thou  knewest  all 
this.  Thou  hast  lifted  thyself  up  against  the  Lord 
of  heaven;  and  they  have  brought  the  vessels  of  His 
house  before  thee,  thou  and  thy  lords,  thy  wives 
and  thy  concubines,  have  drunk  wine  in  them.  Thou 
hast  worshipped  the  gods  of  silver  and  of  gold,  and 
of  brass,  iron,  wood,  and  stone,  which  see  not,  nor  hear 
nor  know.  And  the  God  in  whose  hands  thy  breath 
is,  and  whose  are  all  thy  ways,  hast  thou  not  glorified. 
Then  was  the  part  of  the  hand  sent  from  Him,  and 
this  writing  was  given. 

"This  is  the  writing  that  was  written:  'Mene, 
Mene,  Tekel,  Upharsin.' 

"  This  is  the  interpretation  of  the  thing :  Mene : 
God  hath  numbered  thy  kingdom  and  finished  it. 
Tekel:  thou  art  weighed  in  the  balances  and  found 
wanting.  Peres :  Thy  kingdom  is  divided — and  given 
to  the  Medes  and  Persians!" 

The  last  words  were  spoken  not  to  Belshazzar  nor  to 
any  one  in  the  temple.  They  rose  to  a  shout  that  was 
heard  outside  the  half-open  temple  door.  In  the  mo 
ments  that  followed,  Istar,  her  eyes  blazing  with  wrrath 
and  scorn,  sprang  to  her  feet  and  came  forth  to  con 
front  the  man  of  lies.  But  her  lips  never  showed  him 


440  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

false.  Even  as  she  lifted  up  her  voice  there  came  from 
without  the  sound  of  a  mighty  roar  of  fury.  The  two 
doors  of  the  temple  were  burst  apart,  and  those  within 
found  themselves  face  to  face  with  the  army  of  Cyrus 
and  a  vast  Babylonish  mob. 


THE  terrible  spell  of  silence  that  had  spread  over 
the  feasters  at  the  temple  was  broken  by  a  wom 
an's  scream.  That  scream  brought  men  and  women 
alike  back  to  life.  With  a  loud  shout  Belshazzar 
the  king  leaped  down  the  steps  of  the  shrine  and  ran 
forward,  crying  lustily  to  his  guard  to  form  into  line. 
Old  as  he  was,  Amraphel,  Cyrus'  tool,  was  an  instant 
before  the  king ;  and  he,  with  Daniel  the  prophet  close 
beside  him,  made  his  way  through  the  band  of  soldiers 
that  had  gathered  near  the  door,  to  the  ranks  of  the 
enemy,  in  the  vast  throng  of  whom  priest  and  Jew  were 
presently  lost  to  sight. 

Meantime  Belshazzar  hurriedly  rallied  his  men 
around  him,  had  them  quickly  in  order,  and  lined 
them  before  the  opening,  from  which  by  this  time 
doors  and  gates  had  been  entirely  torn  away.  The 
men  of  Guti  were  armored  and  armed.  The  scent  of 
battle  came  to  their  nostrils.  They  were  at  home  with 
it.  Their  blood  tingled  with  joy,  and  Belshazzar  saw 
how  they  would  fight  for  him,  every  man  to  the  end. 

Now  came  the  first  sharp  volley  of  arrows  and  sling- 
stones  from  the  multitude  at  the  doors.  Two  or  three 
of  the  guards  fell.  The  ranks  were  quickly  closed 
up  and  the  volley  answered.  Then  the  range  became 
too  short  for  bows.  Men  of  Elam  and  Babylonish 
traitors  were  hand-to-hand  with  the  defenders  of  the 
temple.  In  the  semi-darkness  it  was  hard  to  distin 
guish  between  friend  and  foe;  and  the  struggle  be- 


442  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

came  as  man  to  man.  Shouts  and  cries  ascended 
from  the  indivisible  mass.  In  the  midst  of  everything 
rose  the  trumpet  tones  of  Belshazzar,  crying  encour 
agement  to  his  men.  But  the  rich  and  mellow  voice 
of  Cyrus  was  not  to  be  heard  giving  commands  to  the 
other  side.  Cyrus  was  not  here  to-night.  Only  the 
open  field  and  honorable  combat  were  his.  And  he 
had  left  the  dishonor  of  such  a  victory  to  Amraphel 
the  high-priest,  and  Cambyses,  his  own  son,  who  had 
asked  for  it. 

In  the  temple,  behind  the  ranks  of  the  regiment  of 
Guti,  the  royal  eunuchs,  creatures  of  silent  courage 
and  loyalty,  had  gathered  together  all  the  women  into 
one  group,  round  which,  for  protection,  they  and  the 
lords  of  the  council  were  piling  the  temple  furniture 
into  a  barricade.  Istar  alone  was  not  here.  Since 
the  first  battle-cry  no  one  had  seen  her;  and  now,  in 
the  excitement  of  the  moment,  she,  being  unseen,  was 
also  forgotten. 

Baba,  in  her  silks  and  chains,  was  with  the  women 
of  Ribata's  household,  all  of  whom  their  lord  had  placed 
carefully  in  one  corner  of  the  protecting  barricade, 
behind  a  pile  of  divans  and  st&ne  tables  laid  beside  the 
sacrificial  altar.  In  the  rush  of  the  moment  Ribata 
had  but  a  word  with  his  favorite  slave.  For  an  in 
stant,  however,  he  bent  over  her,  to  see  that  she  was 
well  protected,  and  in  that  time  he  pressed  his  lips  as  a 
seal  against  her  forehead,  muttering  hurriedly,  at  the 
same  time:  "Courage,  little  one!  Be  not  afraid.  Our 
lives  are  in  the  hands  of  the  great  Bel.  Pray  to  him, 
"but  do  not  weep." 

And  Baba  answered  readily,  without  any  sign  of 
fear :  "  My  lord  is  my  lord.  I  obey  his  word. " 

Then,  as  he  left  her  side,  the  young  girl  lay  back 
on  the  floor  close  against  a  couch  that  had  been  tipped 
beside  her,  and  stayed  there,  silent  and  open-eyed, 
listening  to  the  tumult  of  the  battle  round  the  door. 
The  chorus  of  shouts  and  yells  was  deafening.  Baby- 


THE    REGIMENT    OF    GUTI       443 

lonish  battle-cries  mingled  with  Median  phrases  of 
triumph.  And  closer  at  hand,  all  around  her,  in  fact, 
the  women  of  high  station  lay  wailing  out  their  fright. 
Ribata's  two  wives  were  near,  crazed  with  terror  for 
themselves,  for  their  lord,  for  Babylon,  for  the  king. 
Now  and  then,  high  above  the  general  tumult,  came 
the  shrill,  fierce  voice  of  Belitsum,  crying  her  anguish. 
Nabonidus  was  the  name  that  continually  left  her 
lips,  till  Belshazzar  himself,  from  the  thickest  of  the 
fight,  caught  the  syllables,  and  fought  the  more  fiercely 
for  the  memory  of  his  father. 

While  the  men  of  Gutium  held  the  door,  there  ap 
peared  to  be  nothing  to  fear  for  the  women  in  the 
temple.  Ribata,  before  joining  in  the  conflict,  passed 
among  his  friends  of  the  council,  bidding  them  hold 
back  a  little  from  the  thick  of  the  fight,  that,  should 
it  prove  necessary,  they  might  be  unhurt  to  defend 
the  women.  The  holders  of  the  temple  were  in  bad 
enough  straits,  to  be  sure,  yet  there  was  no  immedi 
ate  danger.  Belshazzar 's  men,  flanked  by  two  bands 
of  eunuchs  and  noblemen,  who  fought  with  sacrificial 
knives  and  axes,  were  for  the  moment  holding  all 
Babylon  and  the  army  of  Cyrus  at  bay.  Baba  knew 
this,  as  she  lay,  quiet  and  silent,  gazing  up  into  the 
shadowy  spaces  of  the  roof.  Presently,  while  all  that 
terrible  din  sounded  in  her  ears,  with  that  throng  of 
writhing,  struggling,  bleeding  men  twenty  yards  away, 
a  little  smile  stretched  itself  over  her  lips,  and  her 
eyes  fell  shut.  She  lay  wrapped  in  a  vision  of  her 
own:  a  vision  of  fair  fields  and  broad,  blue  water, 
where,  on  the  shore,  stood  a  man;  a  man  whose  hair 
shone  like  the  sun,  and  who  bore  in  his  hands  a  five- 
stringed  lyre.  And  presently,  from  out  of  the  racket, 
she  could  hear  the  pure  tones  of  Charmides'  voice, 
singing,  as  he  had  always  sung  throughout  his  life, 
for  love. 

Baba  was  lying  unconscious  of  her  surroundings 
in  this  little  ecstasy,  when  suddenly  the  low  wailing 


ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

of  the  women  was  heightened  into  loud  cries  of  well- 
warranted  horror.  The  little  slave  felt  a  new  presence 
at  hand.  She  lifted  up  her  eyes,  and  saw  something 
that  caused  her  heart  to  rise  into  her  throat.  The 
barricade  was  breaking  down  before  a  band  of  armed 
temple-servants  that  were  advancing  to  the  murder 
of  the  women.  A  cold  stream  poured  round  Baba's 
heart,  and  for  the  first  time  to-night  she  screamed 
aloud.  Her  cry  was  answered  by  Ribata,  who  was 
trying  desperately  to  gather  the  lords  out  of  the  con 
flict  at  the  door.  But  the  fight  there  was  going  badly. 
More  than  half  the  defenders  of  the  temple  had  fallen, 
and  each  of  those  that  remained  was  pressed  by  half 
a  dozen  of  the  enemy.  Many  of  the  guards  had  been 
drawn  out  into  the  square  and  were  keeping  up  the 
battle  there  while  they  lived.  But  it  seemed  all  at 
once  that  the  defence  could  not  last  many  minutes 
more.  Not  a  man  could  come  to  the  rescue  of  the 
women  caught  in  so  terrible  a  trap.  And  in  the  faces 
of  the  inhuman  creatures  that  threatened  them,  there 
was  no  hope  for  their  lives.  The  murderers  were  near 
ly  all  of  them  Zicaru  from  the  third  college,  which 
was  Amraphel's  Ovvn;  and  into  their  hearts  hatred  for 
the  upper  classes  had  been  instilled  for  years.  Now, 
as  they  looked  upon  their  helpless  prey,  all  the  ani 
mal  savagery  of  their  race  rose  up  in  them,  and  their 
eyes  sparkled  and  their  lips  twitched  in  the  lust  for 
blood.  The  wife  of  Nabu-Mashetic-Urra,  one  of  the 
old  councillors  of  Nabonidus,  received  the  first  blow. 
The  knife  of  a  seer  struck  her  to  the  heart;  and  with 
that  first  gush  of  blood  the  general  carnage  began. 
Defenceless  as  they  were,  the  women  were  roused  to 
action.  With  their  hands,  their  limbs,  their  teeth,  the 
pins  that  fastened  their  hair,  they  fought  uselessly  for 
life.  From  the  place  where  she  lay  half  concealed, 
Baba  watched  the  scenes  of  murder  around  her.  The 
woman  next  her  had  been  dodging  the  knife  that  con 
tinually  pursued  her,  till,  stabbed  in  a  dozen  places, 


THE    REGIMENT    OF    GUTI       445 

hair  and  body  dripping  with  her  blood,  she  proffered 
her  heart  to  the  assassin,  who  mercifully  plunged  his 
dripping  blade  up  to  its  hilt  in  her  breast. 

Baba  gave  a  hoarse  shriek,  threw  up  her  hands, 
and  fell,  face  down,  upon  the  floor.  A  second  after  a 
streak  of  fire  ran  deep  into  her  right  shoulder.  Then, 
immediately,  all  the  noise  died  away.  The  world 
reeled  with  her  and  became  black;  and  for  her  this 
scene  of  incredible  brutality  was  at  an  end. 

Not  so  Belshazzar's  desperate  task.  At  the  moment 
when  the  Zicaru,  appearing  from  the  back  rooms  of 
the  temple,  had  set  about  the  slaughter  of  the  women, 
the  king,  in  the  midst  of  a  little  band  of  five  soldiers, 
had  pressed  through  the  front  ranks  of  the  enemy, 
out  into  the  temple  square.  This  was  packed  with 
the  city  mob  that  had  gathered  from  the  feast  in  the 
temples  of  Nebo,  Nergal,  Istar,  and  Sin,  and  come 
hither  under  the  leadership  of  their  officiating  priests. 
In  the  darkness  it  was  impossible  to  tell  friend  from 
foe.  Belshazzar's  self-constituted  body-guard  fought 
madly  to  preserve  his  life;  but,  fifteen  minutes  after 
they  had  passed  the  temple  doors,  the  last  of  them, 
wounded  in  twenty  places,  had  fallen  at  the  feet  of  his 
king,  and  Belshazzar  of  Babylon  was  alone  with  the 
darkness  and  with  besetting  death.  Many  set  upon 
him  where  he  stood  on  the  eastern  edge  of  the  square ; 
but  perhaps  none  of  his  assailants  knew  him.  He 
was  armed  only  with  a  short  sword  taken  from  the 
hand  of  a  dying  Elamite;  but  with  this  weapon  his 
execution  was  terrible.  As  man  after  man  went  down 
before  his  tigerish  strength,  the  attention  of  many 
was  drawn  to  him,  and  presently  he  found  himself 
backing  do\vn  a  narrow  and  crooked  street  running 
out  of  the  square,  engaged  with  three  men,  variously 
armed,  that  vainly  strove  to  fell  him.  An  arrow  stuck 
in  the  flesh  of  his  right  forearm,  and  there  was  a  great 
gash  upon  one  of  his  knees.  He  left  behind  him  a 
trail  of  blood;  but,  in  the  heat  of  contest,  he  felt  not 


ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

a  twinge  of  pain.  The  noise  of  the  battle  perceptibly 
diminished.  He  heard  it  vaguely,  caring  at  this 
time  very  little  how  the  fight  was  going.  His  ad 
versaries  pressed  him  hard;  yet  he  smiled,  as  con 
tinually  he  beat  them  back.  The  brute,  the  tiger  in 
him,  was  uppermost  now.  He  had  not  a  thought  for 
anything  but  fighting.  In  his  slow  and  certain  way 
he  had  retreated  perhaps  two  hundred  yards,  and  was 
approaching  the  house  of  one  of  the  under-priests  of 
Bel.  From  its  open  door- way  a  flood  of  light  poured 
into  the  street,  and  as  Belshazzar  moved  into  the 
luminous  spot  a  cry  of  recognition  broke  from  the 
lips  of  his  oppressors.  At  the  same  moment  a  white- 
robed  figure  came  quickly  out  of  the  house,  and, 
unseen  by  him,  moved  behind  Belshazzar.  In  the 
moment  that  followed,  a  knife  gleamed  in  the  light 
behind  the  king.  The  blow  fell.  With  a  great  cry 
Belshazzar  reeled,  sank  to  his  knee,  straightened  up 
again  with  a  superhuman  effort,  thrust  weakly  in  the 
direction  of  the  men  in  front,  and  sank  back  on  the 
ground  with  a  faint  moan.  At  the  same  time  his 
assassin,  motioning  the  three  soldiers  to  go  back, 
stepped  in  front  of  his  victim  and  bent  over  him. 

"Amraphel!"  muttered  the  king. 

"Ay,  Amraphel,  thou  dog!  Amraphel,  thou  tyrant 
of  the  city  1  Amraphel,  thou  last  ruler  of  a  hated  line ! 
Amraphel,  that  stands  at  last  alone  in  the  land  of  his 
desire!  Hear  thou,  then,  the  name  of  Amraphel. 
Know  his  everlasting  hatred  for  thee  and  thine,  and 
knowing — die!"  Then,  with  his  sandalled  foot,  the 
old  man  spurned  the  face  of  him  that  was  fallen, 
hoping  to  bring  some  craven  word  to  the  lips  of  the 
king. 

But  Belshazzar  was  himself  in  death  as  in  life. 
Gazing  steadily  into  the  face  of  the  high-priest,  he 
permitted  himself  to  smile — a  slight,  scornful  smile, 
such  as  he  had  sometimes  worn  during  the  sacrifice. 
Seeing  it,  the  high-priest  was  goaded  into  a  hot  fury. 


THE    REGIMENT    OF    GUTI       447 

With  what  strength  he  had  he  kicked  the  face  of  the 
dying  man.  Then,  drawing  his  bloody  skirts  about 
him,  he  turned  and  passed  once  more  into  the  house 
of  the  priest,  out  of  Belshazzar's  sight  forever. 

So  at  last  the  king  lay  alone,  unmolested,  with  the 
night  and  with  his  thoughts.  Babylon  was  fallen — 
was  fallen  the  Great  City,  before  the  hand  of  no  in 
vader,  but  by  treachery  and  stealth,  by  means  of  mur 
der  and  of  outrage.  All  this  the  king  knew;  yet  no 
regret  for  the  inevitable  disturbed  these  final  moments. 
Rather  he  turned  his  mind  to  that  that  was  his  alone, 
to  that  which  constituted  his  true,  his  inner  life,  that 
made  his  great  happiness,  that  had  redeemed  him 
from  all  mental  pain — his  supreme  love  for  Istar  the 
woman. 

In  that  dim  dream  into  which  all  surrounding  things 
were  fading,  her  name  floated  to  his  lips.  Once,  twice, 
thrice  he  repeated  it  to  himself,  lingeringly,  adoring 
ly,  loving  each  syllable  as  he  spoke  it.  He  had  no 
thought,  no  hope  of  seeing  her  again.  She  was  some 
where,  far  away,  in  the  midst  of  those  direful  scenes 
beyond  him.  He  commended  her  to  his  gods  as  best 
he  could.  Then  he  thought  of  himself  as  at  her 
side,  the  mist  of  her  hair  hiding  the  world  from  his 
eyes,  the  perfume  of  her  breath  causing  his  head  to 
swim.  He  thought  of  her  as  she  had  been  to  him 
in  the  last  months.  And  then — suddenly — she  was 
with  him. 

Out  of  the  gloom  of  the  narrow  street  she  came, 
searching  after  him,  calling  his  name.  The  veil  had 
fallen  back  from  her  pallid  face.  Her  eyes  were  star 
ing  wide  with  fear  and  with  the  horror  of  blood.  Her 
movement  was  slow,  indeterminate,  vague.  Not  till 
after  he  had  watched  her  for  a  full  minute  did  she 
come  upon  his  figure  in  its  pools  of  blood.  Then,  with 
a  faint,  fluttering  cry  she  ran  to  him,  only  half -be 
lieving  her  poor  vision.  Their  meeting  was  ineffable. 
She  lay  upon  his  body,  eye  on  eye,  lip  on  lip  to  him, 


448  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

her  cries  stifled  by  his  gasping  breath,  her  wandering 
hands  caressing  his  hair,  his  brow,  his  neck,  his 
bloody  vestment.  Not  knowing  what  she  did,  she 
pulled  the  broken  arrow  from  his  arm,  and  then 
screamed  to  think  of  where  it  had  been.  Of  the  two, 
Belshazzar's  state  of  mind  was  infinitely  clearer,  in 
finitely  stronger  than  hers.  It  was  with  a  supreme 
effort  that  he  took  his  lips  from  hers  that  he  might 
speak,  might  try  to  make  her  understand  what  this 
moment  must  be  to  them. 

"  Oh,  thou  art  wounded,  my  king,  my  beloved ! 
Look  —  here  upon  thee  is  blood  —  blood  on  the  white 
of  thy  robe.  Why  art  thou  red?"  she  repeated,  once 
and  again,  anxiously  examining  the  wet,  dark  stains 
that  flowed  ever  freshly  from  his  body. 

Belshazzar  saw  that  her  brain  was  turned,  and  his 
anguish  became  terrible.  Was  she  to  bid  him  good 
bye  like  this?  Must  he  leave  her  forever  with  the 
infinite  unsaid?  How  could  he  bring  her  mind  back 
to  him,  if  but  for  one  moment?  He  could  not  think. 
All  that  he  could  do  was  to  say,  thickly,  with  the  blood 
in  his  mouth: 

"Istar,  beloved,  I  die!     Dost  thou  hear?" 

"Yea,  Belshazzar,  and  I  also.  Allaraine  hath 
written  it  upon  the  wall.  Didst  thou  not  see?  '  Hast 
thou  found  man's  relation  to  God?  The  silver  sky 
waits  for  thy  soul.'  I  also  die." 

"  Thou ! "  he  murmured,  quickly.  "  Art  thou  wound 
ed,  Istar?"  His  feeble  hands  searched  over  her  body, 
but  felt  no  sign  of  blood.  She  had  been  untouched 
by  any  weapon.  And  now  his  eyes  grew  dull  with 
suffering,  and  he  said,  faintly,  and  with  reluctance: 
"Fare  thee  far  and  well,  my  Istar — Istar  of  my  city. 
I  go." 

"  Belshazzar!" 

What  it  had  been,  tone  or  word  of  his,  that  roused 
her  at  last,  the  dying  man  could  not  tell.  But  that 
name  rang  through  the  night  in  a  scream  of  living 


THE    REGIMENT    OF    GUTI       449 

agony.  Now  she  knew  wrhat  it  meant — that  her  Baby 
lon  was  fallen  around  her — that  the  world  was  empty 
— that  the  lord  of  her  life  was  passing — that  hence 
forward  her  way  lay  through  the  valley  of  loneliness. 
What  mattered  now  the  writing  on  the  wall,  hopeless 
prophecy  of  her  own  death?  Belshazzar  was  here, 
beneath  her,  dying;  while  she — Istar — his  wife — had 
received  no  wound. 

She  raised  him  in  her  arms  and  their  eyes  met  for 
the  last  time.  How  much  passed  in  the  look  cannot 
be  told,  for  it  was  a  final  mingling  of  souls.  All  their 
love,  their  infinite  happiness,  their  sorrow,  their  tears 
unshed,  the  humanity  of  their  two  lives,  was  embodied 
in  that  look.  Grief  of  parting  was  not  there,  for  the 
two  were  striving  to  make  parting  endurable,  each  to 
each,  by  the  look.  It  was  finished  at  last,  with  Bel- 
shazzar's  whispered  words: 

"In  the  silver  sky,  0  my  glorious  one,  I  wait  for 
thee!" 

"0  my  beloved,  wait  for  me!     Wait  for  me!" 

Then  the  body  dropped  inert  in  her  arms.  Bel 
shazzar  was  gone.  Istar  was  left  alone  in  the  world. 

How  long  afterwards  she  rose  from  that  place  she 
did  not  know.  Many  people — soldiers  of  the  invading 
army  and  men  of  the  mob,  with  blood-dripping  swords 
— had  passed  her  as  she  lay  along  the  ground,  face 
down,  beside  the  body.  And  none  of  these  offered  to 
molest  her,  for  they  thought  that  two  dead  lay  there 
in  the  semi-darkness.  The  light  in  the  house  of  the 
priest  of  Bel  had  gone  out,  and  the  shouts  of  conflict 
had  long  since  been  hushed.  Still,  through  all  the 
city,  there  was  the  murmur  of  uneasiness,  of  many 
men  awake  and  stirring.  The  night  was  filled  with 
stars,  and  with  that  curious  white  glow  that  comes  in 
midsummer  to  the  Orient.  But  it  seemed  strange  that 
the  skies  did  not  turn  from  the  hideous  spectacle  of 
Babylon  that  night. 

Forth  into  the  city,  from  the  body  that  she  loved, 


450  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Istar  went.  Guided  and  protected  by  some  divine 
spirit,  she  passed  unhurt  among  groups  of  strange, 
uncouth  warriors  that  laughed  and  talked  in  an  un 
known  tongue.  She  crossed  streets  where  dead  lay 
piled  together.  For  those  that  were  loyal  to  the  city 
had  not  been  spared  by  the  men  of  Amraphel.  She 
passed  houses  in  which  sat  women  wailing  out  their 
terror  through  the  long  hours  before  the  dawn;  and 
came  finally  to  the  open  doors  of  a  small  temple  in 
which  the  feast  of  Tammuz  had  been  celebrated  through 
the  day.  Before  this  Istar  paused.  Inside  she  could 
see  the  glowing  of  the  sacrificial  lights  and  the  dis 
orderly  desertion  of  the  room — the  long,  empty  tables 
covered  with  half-filled  cups  and  plates,  and  the  altar 
whence,  from  the  smouldering  fire,  a  thin  stream  of 
blue  incense  still  poured  upward.  The  woman's  weary 
eyes  saw  these  long,  soft  divans  with  a  sense  of  de 
sire  and  of  relief.  She  entered  the  room  and  went 
quickly  towards  the  nearest  resting-place.  She  was 
about  to  lay  herself  down.  Her  eyes  were  all  but 
closed  under  their  weight  of  weariness,  when  sudden 
ly,  from  the  shadowy  spaces  beyond  her,  came  a  sound 
that  caused  her  to  start  back  from  the  couch,  and 
hasten  in  nervous  terror  towards  the  door.  It  had  been 
only  the  bleating  of  a  little  group  of  hungry  sheep  in 
their  pen  near  the  temple  kitchen ;  yet  the  unexpected 
noise  had  shattered  Istar's  nerves,  and  she  fared  forth 
again  out  of  the  holy  house  into  the  long,  winding 
streets  of  the  city. 

Whither  she  went,  how  far,  with  what  purpose,  no 
one  knew,  no  one  cared.  She  saw  the  river  winding 
its  tranquil  way  between  well-stoned  banks,  with  the 
shadows  of  vast  buildings  mirrored  in  its  depths,  while 
the  glittering  stars  from  their  high  dome  shone  like 
pale,  white  eyes  in  the  glassy,  lazily  moving  stream. 
Wandering  Euphrates!  Took  it  any  heed  of  the  deeds 
of  good  or  evil  performed  upon  its  banks?  God  had 
bequeathed  to  it  eternal  calm,  had  made  the  sight 


THE    REGIMENT    OF    GUTI       451 

of  it  an  eternal  balm  for  weary  eyes.  This  night  it 
brought  peace  on  its  waves  and  a  promise  of  rest  to 
the  soul  of  the  woman.  As  she  stood  gazing  down 
into  its  baffling  green,  there  came  to  her  again  the 
message  from  the  kingdom,  written  in  golden  letters 
on  the  surface  of  the  water.  Again  Istar  read  and 
again  she  wondered,  yet  in  her  soul  understood  the 
words : 

"Hast  thou  found  man's  relation  to  God?  The 
silver  sky  waits  for  thy  soul." 

Istar,  in  her  great  woe,  stood  looking  upon  the  fiery 
words,  that  seemed  to  have  burned  themselves  into  her 
brain;  and  her  whole  heart  rebelled  against  them. 
Those  that  she  loved  had  been  taken  from  her.  With 
Belshazzar,  the  light  of  her  life  was  extinguished. 
Man  was  bound  to  God  only  by  great  suffering,  by 
grief,  by  heart-sorrow!  A  sob  came  into  her  throat, 
and  there  was  anger  in  her  mind  as  she  would  have 
turned  away  from  the  mystical  words.  But  at  that  in 
stant  they  flashed  out  into  darkness,  and  the  gleam 
was  gone.  For  a  moment  the  night  grew  thickly 
black,  and  Istar  reeled  where  she  stood.  Afterwards 
she  found  herself  walking  on  the  bank  of  the  river, 
only  a  little  distance  west  of  the  spot  where  the  huge 
temple  of  Marduk  reared  its  bulk  into  the  air.  It  was 
now  in  Istar's  mind  to  go  back  to  the  place  where 
Belshazzar's  body  lay,  and  to  remain  there  at  his  side 
till  dawn  should  banish  the  horrors  of  the  night.  But 
just  as  she  would  have  left  the  river  for  the  second 
time,  there  came  out  upon  the  path  that  ran  along  its 
bank  a  group  of  white-robed  men,  whom  Istar  knew 
for  priests,  bearing  with  them  a  heavy  burden  covered 
over  with  a  purple  cloth.  At  sight  of  them  Istar  turn 
ed  suddenly  dizzy  and  crouched  on  *the  bricks  of  the 
pavement. 

Arrived  at  the  edge  of  the  river,  the  five  priests  of 
Amraphel's  temple  laid  their  burden  on  the  ground 
and  removed  the  cloth  that  covered  it.  Belshazzar's 


452  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

body  was  exposed  to  view.  Istar,  with  a  little  moan, 
pressed  both  hands  tightly  across  her  breast.  But 
neither  sound  nor  movement  attracted  any  attention 
from  the  priests.  These  now  indulged  in  a  short  par 
ley,  that  ended  in  their  taking  from  the  corpse  the 
royal  ornaments  that  covered  it  and  dividing  them 
evenly  among  the  five. 

"Now,  Bel-shar-utsur,  tyrant  of  the  city,  go  down 
by  river  to  plead  with  the  Lady  Mulge  in  Ninkigal 
for  a  drink  from  the  spring  of  life;  for  thou  shalt 
drink  no  more,  in  the  Great  City,  of  the  wines  of  Hel- 
bon  and  Izalla!" 

With  this  only  farewell,  three  of  them  lifted  the  body 
up,  swung  it  thrice  in  the  air  by  the  feet  and  by  the 
head,  and  at  the  third  swing  let  it  fly  out  into  the 
waters  of  the  river  that  had  so  short  a  time  before  re 
ceived  the  worn  frame  of  the  dead  man's  father. 

As  the  body  left  their  hands  the  priests  were  startled 
to  hear  a  long,  low  cry  that  came  from  a  few  yards  to 
the  right.  Looking,  they  saw  a  woman's  figure  run 
to  the  river-bank  and  peer  into  the  waters  below,  where 
the  body  of  the  king,  as  on  a  funeral  barge,  went  float 
ing  down  towards  the  city  of  the  dead  that  lay  south 
of  Babylon. 

Without  any  attempt  at  accosting  her  who  mourned, 
the  men  of  Amraphel  presently  turned  away  and  be 
gan  their  return  to  the  temple,  carrying  with  them 
the  new  wealth  of  jewels.  Istar  also  rose,  half  con 
sciously,  and  knowing  neither  any  abiding  -  place 
where  to  lay  her  head,  nor  any  one  to  seek  who  could 
give  her  help,  she  moved  away  aimlessly  down  the 
bank  of  the  stream.  A  few  yards  to  the  south  there 
was  a  great  ferry  station,  where,  by  day,  a  dozen  boats 
were  wont  to  ply  back  and  forth  across  the  stream. 
By  night  only  one  barge  went  its  way  backward  and 
forward ;  and  as  Istar  came  down  to  the  little  quay  the 
broad  scow  was  just  ready  to  start  to  the  western  shore 
with  its  load  of  men  and  soldiers.  She  ran  quickly 


THE    REGIMENT    OF    GUTI       453 

down  the  steps  and  on  to  this  moving  bridge.  The 
west  bank  of  the  river  was  home  to  her.  She  knew 
its  streets  and  its  people.  There,  to  the  north,  was 
the  palace  of  Belshazzar,  and  the  temple  in  which  she 
had  once  dwelt.  There,  somewhere,  she  would  find 
shelter. 

When  the  barge  finally  touched  the  landing  at  the 
western  shore  and  Istar,  last  of  any  one,  was  about 
to  leave  it,  she  was  stopped  by  one  of  the  ferrymen. 

"Lady,  it  is  two  se  for  the  passage." 

"  Two  se !    Money?    I  have  none,"  said  Istar,  slowly. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  leave  the  barge  till  the  price  is  paid," 
retorted  the  boatman,  angrily. 

But  vaguely  understanding  what  he  meant,  Istar 
pulled  the  veil  from  her  face  and  fixed  her  great  eyes 
upon  him,  the  better  to  comprehend  what  it  was  he 
told  her.  The  man  gave  a  great  start,  for  in  the  semi- 
darkness  her  marvellous  beauty  shone  like  a  star. 
Then  the  rough  fellow  bent  his  head  before  her. 

"It  is  the  lady  of  Babylon!  Great  Istar,  forgive 
our  fault!  Let  it  please  thee  to  leave  the  barge!"  he 
exclaimed,  reverently. 

Istar  did  not  pause  to  wonder  that  he  knew  her. 
She  saw  that  her  way  was  open,  and  she  went  forth, 
up  the  steps,  across  the  path  at  the  top,  and  into  the 
lower  city.  Too  weary,  too  stricken  for  either  rest  or 
sleep,  she  felt  her  brain  burn  and  her  limbs  grow  cold 
as  she  walked.  Now  there  was  a  fire  in  her  veins; 
now  they  grew  chill  as  the  snows  of  Elam.  In  the 
pale  gray  of  the  dawn  she  trembled  with  sickness. 
The  coming  of  day  was  not  beautiful  to  her  eyes.  In 
the  first  pink  flush  from  the  east  she  found  herself 
standing  before  a  miserable  hut  on  the  border  of  a 
canal,  and  from  the  dark  door-way  came  a  voice  cry 
ing  in  great  fear : 

"The  plague!  The  plague!  It  is  come  upon  us! 
Behold  the  gods  visit  their  wrath  upon  men!  Woe, 
woe  to  them  that  see  light  in  Babylon  to-day!" 


454  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Istar  shuddered  at  the  cry.  From  another  place 
farther  to  the  north  the  words  of  horror  and  grief  were 
repeated.  The  reign  of  death  was  thus  proclaimed 
in  the  city.  Now  there  was  a  great  ringing  in  Istar 's 
ears.  Lights  shot  up  before  her  eyes.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  over  all  the  city,  from  the  five  millions  of 
human  tongues,  rose  that  cry  of  woe :  "  The  plague ! 
The  plague!" 

The  memory  of  her  dead  child  was  with  her.  A  few 
more  paces  she  staggered  through,  half  consciously. 
Then,  of  a  sudden,  some  one  appeared  beside  her — 
some  one  whom  she  knew  and  had  forgotten.  At 
sight  of  the  well-known  face  the  woman's  brain  gave 
way.  With  a  long,  heart-broken  sob,  she  fell  help 
less,  lifeless,  into  the  reverent  arms  of  Charmides,  her 
bard. 


XX 
PESTILENCE 

IT  was  thus  that,  on  the  night  of  July  3d,  in  the 
year  538  B.C.,  Persian  rule  began  in  Babylon,  and 
native  rule  in  the  Great  City  was  ended  forever. 

Historically  this  was  true.  In  actual  fact,  on  the 
morning  of  July  4th — ay,  and  for  many  weeks  there 
after — no  man  knew  the  real  ruler  of  the  city,  and  no 
man  greatly  cared  to  know  him.  Every  soul  within 
the  walls  was  occupied  with  a  far  more  terrible  and 
more  engrossing  matter,  and  officer  and  priest  alike 
obeyed  orders  of  Cyrus  that  passed  through  the  lips 
of  Amraphel,  without  caring  whence  they  were  issued 
or  why.  Cyrus  the  king,  his  sons,  and  the  most  of 
his  army  remained  encamped  without  the  walls.  Go- 
bryas  had  returned  to  the  governorship  of  Sippar. 
Amraphel,  unable  to  find  any  loop-hole  for  escape, 
remained  shut  up  in  his  palace,  miserably  afraid,  not 
even  venturing  to  sacrifice  in  the  temple  for  dread  of 
the  curse  that  hung  over  the  city.  Every  place  of 
worship,  indeed,  was  deserted.  In  the  middle  of  the 
temple  of  Bel-Marduk  the  hideous  pile  of  dead  still 
lay  behind  their  barricade,  just  as  they  had  fallen  on 
the  night  of  the  massacre.  Men  not  cowards  at  other 
times  fled  that  building  and  the  square  and  all  the 
neighborhood,  as  a  place  of  the  damned.  The  air 
around  was  thick  with  the  stench  of  death;  and  no 
command  of  Cyrus  could  force  one  of  his  men  near 
enough  to  the  spot  to  wall  up  the  open  space  between 
the  shattered  doors. 

Plague  reigned  supreme  in  Babylon.     The  black 


456  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

death,  that  horror  of  horrors  that  occasionally  swept 
upon  the  great  nations  of  the  East,  like  the  scourge  of 
God  smiting  every  man  in  its  path,  leaving  behind  it 
a  wake  of  dead,  dying,  and  miserable  bereft,  had  en 
tered  into  the  beleaguered  city.  It  was  for  this  that 
Amraphel  stopped  ears  and  eyes  and  remained  a 
prisoner  behind  the  thick,  white  walls  of  his  palace, 
where  the  chorus  of  woe  could  not  penetrate  to  him. 
And  day  by  day  Daniel  the  Jew  interpreted,  to  those 
that  would  hear,  the  meaning  of  this  further  wrath 
of  God  against  them  that  had  so  long  allowed  them 
selves  to  be  governed  by  such  a  one  as  Nabonidus, 
descendant  of  Nebuchadrezzar.  Indefatigably  Daniel, 
plague-marked  and  immune  long  years  ago,  preached 
the  wrathful  word  of  his  death-bearing  Lord ;  and  such 
was  his  success  among  these  pagans  that  it  became  a 
not  uncommon  thing  to  behold  some  woman,  swollen 
and  spotted,  inexpressibly  repulsive  and  pitiable  to 
look  at,  with  the  final  frenzy  upon  her,  kneeling  in 
street  or  hovel  before  the  wooden  image  of  a  demon, 
and  frantically  calling  upon  the  god  of  the  Jews  to 
remove  from  her  both  the  curse  of  life  and  the  after- 
terrors  of  hell,  and  to  plunge  her  into  the  longed-for 
peace  of  utter  annihilation. 

By  the  middle  of  the  month  bodies  could  not  be 
buried,  but  lay  piled  in  streets  and  houses,  till  Baby 
lon  became  the  true  city  of  Mulge,  Queen  of  the  Dead. 
Those  that  knew,  those  that  had  gone  through  the  vis 
itation  of  thirty  years  before,  felt  their  hearts  fail  them 
as  they  thought  of  what  was  still  to  come.  Many, 
indeed,  tried  to  leave  the  city;  but  Cyrus'  soldiers  pa 
trolled  every  gate,  and  any  having  about  them  the 
mark  of  death  were  not  allowed  to  pass. 

Charmides  the  Greek  was  not  among  those  that  at 
tempted  an  escape.  By  every  tie  that  he  held  sacred 
he  was  bound  to  his  adopted  city,  and  it  was  his  one 
desire  to  do  what  little  he  might  to  help  the  sufferers 
of  the  plague. 


PESTILENCE  457 

At  dawn  on  the  fourth  of  Ab,  the  morning  after  the 
fall  of  the  city,  Ramua  and  Beltani  sat  together  in  their 
tenement,  waiting,  watching,  more  than  all  wondering 
at  the  strange  sounds  that  had  come  to  them  as  faint 
echoes  of  the  great  happenings  of  the  night.  Neither 
of  them  had  gone  to  celebrate  the  feast  in  any  temple. 
Plead  or  storm  as  Beltani  would,  she  found  Charmides 
fixed  in  his  wishes  on  this  point,  and  in  tears  and 
bitterness  of  spirit  she  found  it  necessary  to  move 
forward  for  an  entire  year  all  her  dreams  of  three 
days  of  unlimited  wine  and  meat.  The  Greek,  who  had 
gone  back  to  temple-service  almost  immediately  after 
his  meeting  with  Belshazzar  on  the  day  of  Daniel's 
attempted  assassination  of  the  king,  knew  enough  of 
what  was  likely  to  happen  in  the  first  night  of  the 
feast  to  forbid  his  family  to  participate  in  it.  And 
while  Beltani  had  raged,  and  even  Ramua  had  shed 
a  few  submissive  tears  when  Charmides  departed  for 
the  temple  of  Sin,  the  two  of  them  watched  quietly 
through  the  night  and  eagerly  awaited  the  promised 
early  return  of  the  master  of  the  household. 

Very  early  in  the  evening  came  vague  mutterings 
of  distant,  gathering  mobs.  Much  later  were  the  still 
more  indeterminate  but  more  ominous  sounds  of  bat 
tle,  shouts  and  cries,  with  the  underlying  murmur 
grown  more  fierce.  Afterwards  fell  the  great  silence — 
a  silence  in  which  no  man  could  sleep,  something  more 
terrible  than  sound,  something  that  foreboded  direful 
things — carnage,  murder,  merciless  death.  At  this 
time  the  name  of  Baba  first  passed  the  lips  of  the  wait 
ing  women.  Baba  was  in  Ribata's  train  at  the  temple 
of  Bel-Marduk.  Baba,  a  slave,  stood  no  chance  of 
salvation  if  any  were  to  be  lost.  Had  she  lived  or 
had  she  died  that  night?  Through  the  silence  that 
lasted  till  dawn  this  unspoken  question  lay  in  the 
hearts  of  the  watchers.  And  then,  with  the  first  streaks 
of  day,  their  thoughts  were  turned  again  by  some 
thing  else,  another  cry  more  awful  than  any  battle- 


458  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

shout,  that  rose  like  a  mist  from  every  hovel  in  the 
tenement  quarter. 

"The  plague — the  plague!  Woe  unto  us!  It  is  the 
plague!" 

It  was  as  if  every  soul  in  the  city  was  become  a  leper, 
and  each  was  crying  his  disease.  At  the  first  sound 
of  it  Ramua's  heart  turned  sick  within  her,  and  Bel- 
tani  became  as  white  as  the  dawn.  For  Beltani  could 
remember  the  last  plague  in  Babylon. 

"Charmides!  Why  does  he  stay?"  whispered  Ra 
mua  to  her  mother,  over  and  over  again;  and  it  was 
the  only  word  that  passed  between  them  till,  with 
the  first  beams  of  the  sun,  the  Greek  was  seen  coming 
into  the  square  in  front  of  the  tenement.  At  sight  of 
him  Ramua  gave  a  little  cry: 

"He  is  not  alone!" 

"It  is  not  Baba,"  added  Beltani,  quickly. 

Then  the  two  of  them  watched  in  silence  while  Char 
mides  advanced  with  his  companion,  a  tall,  slender 
woman  covered  with  the  silver- woven  veil,  who  faltered 
as  she  moved,  till  Charmides  was  nearly  carrying  her. 
At  the  first  glance  Ramua  perceived  that  the  Greek 
was  weary,  so  weary  that  every  step  was  an  effort  to 
him.  Thus,  when  he  finally  reached  the  door  of  the 
dwelling,  she  ran  quickly  forward  to  give  him  aid. 

"  The  night  has  been  very  long.  Thou  must  rest," 
she  whispered,  disregarding  the  stranger,  who  drooped 
as  they  halted  at  the  door. 

"Nay,  Ramua.  Nay.  I  am  not  weary,"  returned 
the  Greek,  monotonously.  "  Behold,  I  bring  home  to 
you  Istar,  the  great  lady  of  Babylon.  In  this  night 
she,  and  all  in  the  Great  City,  have  terribly  suffered. 
Babylon  is  fallen  to  Kurush  the  king,  and  Belshazzar, 
the  mighty  prince,  and  all  that  were  with  him  in  the 
temple  of  Bel,  are  slain." 

Istar  gave  a  quick,  convulsive  shudder,  but  Ramua 
hardly  noticed  her.  "Baba!"  she  cried,  in  terror. 
"Baba  was  in  the  temple  of  Bel!" 


PESTILENCE  459 

Charmides  turned  very  white,  and  Istar  suddenly 
threw  back  the  veil  from  her  face.  "And  Baba — 
Baba,  too!"  she  said,  mournfully,  her  voice  ringing 
like  a  knell. 

But  seeing  the  woman,  Ramua  and  her  mother  for 
got  what  they  said.  The  two  of  them  stood  transfixed 
by  her  undreamed-of,  supernatural  beauty.  Her  pallor 
was  something  incredible,  and  the  unearthly  purity 
of  it,  the  light  in  the  great  eyes,  the  bluish  shadows 
that  lay  on  the  skin,  were  enough  for  the  moment  to 
make  one  forget  death  itself.  As  she  looked,  Beltani 
perceived  something  that  caused  her  to  start.  She  took 
an  impulsive  step  forward,  and  then  halted  again  as 
Istar's  eyes  came  slowly  to  the  level  of  hers. 

"What  seest  thou?"  asked  the  woman. 

Beltani  went  forward  again  and  laid  a  finger  upon 
Istar's  neck,  and  as  she  drew  it  away  Istar  shuddered 
convulsively. 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  Charmides,  in  a  thick 
voice. 

"The  plague." 

There  was  a  momentary  silence  as  the  four  that 
stood  there  gave  the  words  time  to  penetrate.  Then 
Istar,  quivering  again,  started  suddenly  towards  the 
door.  Charmides  barred  her  way. 

"Where  goest  thou?"  he  asked,  gently. 

"Out!  Out  into  the  Great  City!  Let  me  go,  Char 
mides!  Let  me  go!" 

With  what  little  strength  she  had  Istar  threw  herself 
upon  the  Greek,  that  he  might  give  way  and  let  her 
escape  from  his  house.  But  Charmides  was  firm, 
and  his  strength  infinitely  greater  than  hers.  After 
a  struggle  of  a  few  seconds  Istar  gave  way  and  would 
have  fallen  upon  the  floor  had  not  the  young  man 
caught  her  about  the  body,  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  and 
carried  her,  lifeless  and  unresisting,  into  the  little- 
used  inner  room  where,  at  this  moment,  Bazuzu  lay 
asleep.  The  black  slave  was  quickly  roused  and 


460  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Istar  was  placed  upon  a  hurriedly  arranged  bed.  Then 
Charmides  returned  again  to  his  wife  and  sternly  com 
manded  her  to  retire  to  her  room  up-stairs,  forbidding 
her  to  enter  the  lower  rooms  of  their  dwelling  while 
Istar  should  be  there.  Both  Bazuzu  and  Beltani  had 
had  the  plague,  and  were  in  no  danger  from  it.  But 
Charmides  himself,  like  Ramua,  was  relegated  to  the 
upper  rooms  and  to  the  roof. 

The  moment  that  her  body  rested  upon  a  bed,  poor 
as  it  was,  Istar  fell  asleep,  and  there,  in  the  great  weight 
of  her  sickness  and  her  grief,  lay  for  many  hours  in 
sensible  to  all  things.  As  the  heat  of  the  day  came 
on,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the  small  and  ill-ventilated 
room  became  more  and  more  stifling,  Bazuzu  took  his 
place  at  her  side,  and  minute  by  minute,  hour  by  hour, 
fanned  to  her  lips  what  air  there  was,  while  his  own 
face  streamed  with  perspiration  and  his  breath  came 
in  gasps.  His  eyes,  the  eyes  that  had  so  tenderly 
watched  the  childlike  slumbers  of  Ramua  and  Baba, 
now  looked  upon  her  whose  face  had  been  the  wonder 
of  the  East,  whom  he  himself  once  had  seen  clothed 
in  blinding  radiance,  seated  upon  her  golden  car  in  a 
procession  of  the  great  gods,  and  who  now  lay  here, 
alone  and  friendless,  shorn  of  her  divinity,  stricken 
with  disease,  to  die  a  pauper's  death  or  to  live  on  to  a 
hideous  old  age. 

Istar  suffered  in  her  sleep.  Whether  it  was  the 
memory  of  the  horror  of  the  past  night  or  the  pain 
of  disease  racking  her  body  could  not  be  told.  But 
Bazuzu  heard  her  moans  with  heartfelt  pity.  Over 
and  over  again  she  spoke  two  names,  one  of  which 
the  slave  could  scarcely  understand,  the  other  that  of 
the  dead  prince  of  Babylon.  They  were  the  names  of 
her  baby  and  of  her  husband,  all  that  world  of  happi 
ness  that  had  gone,  and  that  was  calling  to  her  out  of 
the  shadowy  past. 

Like  every  one  in  the  clutch  of  the  dread  sickness, 
Istar  thirsted  continually,  yet  shrank,  nauseated,  at 


PESTILENCE  461 

the  mere  sight  of  water  or  milk.  Continually  Beltani 
brought  and  held  to  her  lips  the  refreshment  that  she 
craved,  as  often  to  have  it  thrust  away  with  a  gest 
ure  of  pitiable  repulsion.  At  length,  seeing  there 
was  no  other  way,  Bazuzu  held  the  sick  woman  fast 
pinioned  on  the  ground,  while  Beltani  poured  down 
her  throat  a  pint  of  freshly  cooled  water.  Over  the 
first  swallow  Istar's  struggles  were  convulsive,  but 
after  that  she  drank  eagerly  all  that  was  given  her, 
and  when  the  last  in  the  cup  was  gone  she  opened 
her  burning  eyes  in  a  mute  appeal  for  more.  This 
was  refused,  of  necessity;  but,  in  pity  for  the  heat 
of  her  fever  and  the  closeness  of  the  room,  Beltani 
had  her  carried  out  and  laid  down  near  the  door- way 
of  the  living-room,  where  presently  she  sank  into  a 
sleep  that  changed  gradually  to  a  heavy  stupor. 

Noon  passed  and  left  the  city  streets  quivering  with 
heat.  From  the  burning  desert  in  the  west  came  a 
faint  breath  of  wind,  that  twinkled  blue  and  white  in 
the  air  till  the  eyes  were  blinded  and  the  brain  reeled 
under  its  intensity  Charmides  and  Ramua  were  sit 
ting  together  on  the  gallery  outside  their  room  in  an 
upper  story  of  the  tenement,  looking  off  to  the  shining 
strip  of  canal  beyond  which  rose  the  patch  of  shrivelled 
green  where,  two  months  before,  Ribata's  garden  had 
blossomed  with  many  a  fragrant  rose  and  fragile  lily. 
Charmides  was  mentally  preparing  himself  for  another 
journey  across  the  desolate  city  to  the  temple  of  Bel, 
that  vast  tomb  in  which  so  many  tangled  bodies  lay. 
He  had  not  yet  voiced  his  intention  to  Ramua,  though 
he  knew  that  she  would  not  oppose  it. 

Suddenly  round  the  corner  of  the  tenement,  into  the 
open  square,  came  a  strange  thing:  a  human  being, 
crawling  upon  hands  and  knees  along  the  brick  pave 
ment,  halting  now  and  then  in  visible  exhaustion,  but 
displaying  also  a  nervous  eagerness  in  its  movements ; 
and  all  the  way  behind  it  as  it  came  was  left  a  deep, 
red  trail.  A  mere  heap  of  bloody  rags  at  first  it  seemed ; 


462  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

but  presently,  as  he  watched,  Charmides  could  see 
a  mop  of  long,  black  hair  that  fell  to  the  ground  upon 
one  side. 

"  That  is  a  woman,  Ramua,"  he  whispered. 

Ramua,  white  to  the  lips,  grasped  his  arm.  "Go! 
Go  to  her,  Charmides!"  she  responded,  a  breathless 
fear  coming  on  her. 

"What  is  it,  Ramua?  What  is  thy  thought?" 
questioned  the  Greek. 

"I  do  not  know.  Go  thou,  Charmides!  Haste! 
Haste!  She  falls!" 

Thereupon  Charmides  went,  slowly  at  first,  still 
staring  in  a  half  -  puzzled  way  at  the  little  heap  of 
bruised  flesh  that  now  lay  inert  upon  the  bricks  below. 
Then  his  pace  quickened,  for  he  realized  the  wom 
an's  need.  Along  the  gallery  and  down  the  stairs  he 
ran,  and  then,  at  breakneck  pace,  crossed  the  space 
between  the  wounded  creature  and  the  door-way  of  the 
tenement.  Ramua,  straining  her  eyes  after  him,  saw 
him  bend  over  the  fallen  one,  and  then  thought  that 
a  cry  came  from  his  lips. 

Hardly  a  cry,  more  a  groan  of  utter  horror  it  was. 
Charmides'  heart  was  in  his  throat.  For  a  second  the 
blue  eyes  closed  to  shut  out  the  pitiable  sight,  and 
then  opened  again  upon  Baba.  It  was  Baba  that  lay 
there  before  him:  Baba  who,  mangled  as  she  was, 
had,  in  the  gray  dawn,  crawled  out  from  the  bodies 
among  which  she  lay  in  the  temple,  and  since  then 
had  come  upon  her  hands  and  knees,  inch  by  inch, 
foot  by  foot,  all  across  the  Great  City,  to  her  old  home, 
to  him  that  stood  over  her  now.  She  had  allowed 
herself  the  untold  luxury  of  unconsciousness  only 
when  the  journey's  end  was  reached,  when  at  last  she 
was  at  the  door- way  of  the  place  of  her  early  poverty, 
her  great  happiness,  her  life-sorrow. 

Charmides  knelt  beside  her,  and,  with  a  little  quiver 
in  which  pity  and  fear  for  her  were  evenly  mingled, 
lifted  her  in  his  arms.  She  stained  his  tunic  with 


PESTILENCE  463 

blood;  but  presently  he  perceived  that  this  blood  was 
not  all  Baba's  own.  It  was  caked  in  clots  upon  her 
torn  garments;  it  smeared  her  rich  sandals;  it  matted 
her  hair.  Yet  on  her  body  there  was,  so  far  as  he 
could  yet  determine,  only  one  wound — a  deep  stab  in 
the  back  of  her  left  shoulder.  From  this  the  blood 
had  almost  ceased  to  flow,  coming  only  in  a  little  trickle 
when  she  drew  a  longer  breath  than  usual. 

Charmides  bore  the  light  form,  face  downward,  tow 
ards  the  stairs  of  the  tenement,  thinking  rapidly  as  he 
went.  A  horrible  sight,  truly,  to  lay  before  Ramua. 
Yet  Ramua  must  see  it.  Carry  her  into  those  rooms 
where  Istar  lay  in  the  delirium  of  the  plague,  he  dared 
not.  Nowhere  else — yes,  there  was  one  other  place. 
There  was  the  home  of  Baba's  master.  Should  he 
take  her  there  before  Ramua  guessed  her  identity? 
Ribata's  house  would  be  open  to  her.  And  yet — and 
yet — it  was  here  that  Baba  herself  had  chosen  to  come, 
as  she  might  well  believe,  in  death.  That  mute  ap 
peal  could  not  be  withstood.  Here,  because  she  had 
asked  it,  she  must  remain. 

Step  by  step  up  the  stairs  to  the  gallery  he  bore  the 
pathetic  burden.  At  the  top  of  the  flight  stood  Ramua, 
face  colorless,  eyes  wide  with  a  fear  that  she  would 
not  admit  to  herself.  Charmides,  looking  up,  met  the 
look,  answered  it,  and  saw  his  wife's  hands  go  up  to 
her  head. 

"Charmides!     It  is  not — "  she  stopped. 

"It  is  Baba,  my  beloved.  Baba  is  alive.  She 
has  come  home  to  us,  Ramua,  to  be  cared  for.  Be 
thou  brave,  then.  Go  down  and  bring  water  where 
with  to  wash  her,  and  a  clean  tunic  of  thine  own 
to  put  upon  her;  and  then  together  we  will  bind  her 
wound." 

A  little  while  and  the  sunset  came,  and  Babylon 
was  aureoled  again  in  crimson.  Not  till  then  did 
Ribata's  slave  come  back  to  consciousness  in  her 
sister's  arms.  The  horror  of  the  past  night  had 


464  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

stamped  itself  as  indelibly  upon  her  mind  as  on  her 
body.  Between  fits  of  trembling  she  poured  out  to 
Ramua  the  story  of  the  fight  in  the  temple  and  the 
massacre  of  the  women.  Charmides,  standing  outside 
the  door  on  the  gallery,  listened  to  the  tale  as  he  looked 
off  across  the  quiet  city. 

"  And  Istar,  Istar,  our  divine  lady,  I  did  not  behold 
at  the  side  of  Belitsum  the  queen,  nor  with  the  women 
of  the  royal  house  who  lie  together  now  in  the  centre 
of  the  dead.  May  the  great  gods  grant  that  she  and 
her  lord,  Belshazzar,  together  escaped  death  and  are 
free — somewhere — in  the  city." 

"  Baba,  the  Lady  Istar  is  here — below — sick  of  the 
plague;  and  our  mother  and  Bazuzu  are  at  her 
side." 

"  The  Lady  Istar!  Here!"  Baba  struggled  to  sit  up, 
but  Ramua  kept  her  firmly  down  while  she  told  her 
the  story  of  Istar's  coming;  how  Charmides  brought 
her  to  them  crazed  with  her  grief  and  with  her  long 
wrandering. 

Baba  listened  closely,  and  at  the  end  of  the  recital 
her  tears  flowed  fast.  "Belshazzar,  then,  is  dead!" 
she  whispered  more  than  once.  "The  mighty  prince 
is  dead,  and  Istar  is  alone — alone — even  as  I." 

But  now,  while  Ramua  wiped  her  tears  away,  Char 
mides  came  in  to  them,  saying :  "  Across  the  square 
from  the  canal  come  two  men  in  the  livery  of  the  house 
of  Ribata.  I  go  forth  to  meet  them.  If  it  is  for  thee 
they  come,  Baba,  what  word  shall  I  give  to  them?" 

Baba  gave  a  long  sigh,  and  her  eyes  closed.  "  I 
am  here.  Seeks  my  lord  for  me?  I  am  my  lord's. 
I  will  return  to  him  when  I  may." 

And  with  this  reply  Charmides  went  forth  to  meet 
the  messengers. 

Ribata 's  men  halted  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  wait 
ing  his  descent;  and  the  Greek  found  that  he  had 
guessed  aright  when  he  surmised  the  object  of  their 
coming.  My  Lord  Ribata,  terribly  wounded,  strick- 


PESTILENCE  465 

en  with  great  grief  at  the  downfall  of  the  city  and 
the  massacre  of  all  his  women,  had  despatched  mes 
sengers  to  the  only  place  where  news  of  his  favorite 
slave  could  be  had,  if  mayhap  she  had  by  a  miracle 
escaped  the  general  carnage.  Charmides  dutifully 
gave  them  Baba's  message,  saw  their  faces  light  up 
with  amazement  and  pleasure,  and  bade  them,  if  they 
would  carry  Baba  to  their  lord,  go  fetch  the  easiest 
of  litters,  that  she  might  not  suffer  more  than  neces 
sary  on  the  way. 

This  was  done.  In  less  than  an  hour  two  litters 
halted  in  front  of  the  tenement  of  Ut,  and  in  one  of 
them  was  Ribata  himself,  his  head,  breast,  arms,  and 
one  limb  wrapped  in  heavy  bandages,  so  weak  that 
his  voice  was  but  a  whisper,  yet  a  whisper  of  joy  that 
one  little  creature  out  of  all  the  multitude  had  es 
caped  death  in  the  temple.  Baba  was  carried  down 
to  him,  and  their  meeting  had  in  it  much  of  pathos. 
Ribata 's  career  was  ruined,  his  position  gone,  his  lord 
dead,  his  house  in  disorder ;  yet  one  thing  was  left  to 
him,  and  her,  in  great  joy,  he  took  to  his  heart.  Char 
mides  and  Ramua,  side  by  side,  stood  listening  as  Ri 
bata  whispered  to  his  slave  the  two  words  that  changed 
the  lives  of  them  all. 

"Baba — my  wife,"  said  he.-  And  then  presently, 
together,  they  were  carried  away  into  the  evening. 

While  Charmides  and  Ramua  went  back  to  their 
room  to  talk  over  the  great  thing  that  had  come  to 
Baba,  Beltani,  below,  was  preparing  for  the  doleful 
night.  She  had  kindled  a  little  fire,  cooked  food  for 
herself  and  Bazuzu,  and  was  now  on  her  knees  offering 
up  incantations  to  Namtar,  the  demon  of  the  plague. 
Bazuzu,  from  his  place  beside  Istar,  joined  at  intervals 
in  the  prayers,  which  the  sick  woman,  now  in  the  vio 
lent  delirium  of  fever,  broke  in  upon  continually  with 
appeals  for  help  and  wails  of  grief  over  Belshazzar, 
who  never  left  her  thoughts. 

In  many  a  house  and  hovel  in  the  Great  City  a 


466  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

similar  scene  was  enacted  to-night.  Yet  there  could 
not  be  one  more  deplorable  than  this.  She  who 
raved  upon  the  bed  of  straw  in  the  heart  of  the 
most  poverty-stricken  quarter  of  Babylon — from  what 
things  was  she  descended?  One  by  one  she  had  lost 
everything  that  had  made  her  life  wonderful.  Now 
the  last,  that  attribute  that  she  had  left  uncounted  be 
cause  it  seemed  to  her  indestructible,  was  going  from 
her.  In  the  next  five  days  of  this  horrible  sickness 
her  beauty  fled  away,  and  she  was  left  a  thing  dread 
ful  for  mankind  to  look  upon. 

By  the  second  day  of  her  attack,  the  mental  disturb 
ance  had  increased  till  the  intervals  of  her  sanity  en 
tirely  disappeared.  On  the  morning  of  the  third  day 
began  those  violent  constrictions  of  the  heart  that 
caused  unspeakable  agony  and  brought  her  to  the 
brink  of  the  black  abyss.  By  this  time,  also,  the  en 
largement  of  glands,  or  buboes,  the  dominating  symp 
tom  of  the  plague,  had  become  frightful  to  see.  Her 
eyes  were  suffused  with  a  thick,  white  matter.  Upon 
her  body  came  forth  great  carbuncles.  On  the  fourth 
day  dark  spots,  patches  like  black  bruises,  and  long, 
livid  stripes,  appeared  upon  her  fair  skin.  The  fever, 
now  at  its  height,  burned  itself  out  in  a  day,  and  Is- 
tar  fell  into  a  cold  and  quiet  stupor,  the  first  stage 
of  death.  Her  lips  were  black.  Her  eyes  had  closed. 
Her  body  had  become  something  from  which  Beltani 
shrank  at  sight,  and  old  Bazuzu  touched  only  because 
of  his  great  pity  for  the  woman.  Also  at  this  time 
Istar's  veil  of  hair,  which  had  been  wont  to  conceal 
her  under  its  silken  meshes,  fell  out  in  great  masses 
and  was  burned  by  Beltani  as  a  sacrifice  before  the 
demon  of  the  plague. 

Beltani 's  prayers  to  Namtar,  however,  had  lost 
their  sincerity,  for  the  old  woman  could  not  in  her 
heart  wish  Istar  to  live  in  her  terrible  disfigurement. 
Istar  herself  did  not  yet  know  what  she  had  become. 
But  unless,  as  seemed  most  probable,  she  died,  there 


PESTILENCE  467 

must  soon  come  a  time  when  she  would  discover,  when 
she  would  see  people  shrink  away  from  contact  with 
her,  yet  turn  to  stare  after  in  that  fascination  that  a 
dreadful  sight  draws  forth.  Out  of  pure  reverence 
for  what  Istar  had  been,  Beltani  attended  her  faith 
fully.  Every  herb  and  medicine  and  charm  within 
her  means  and  known  to  her  she  used  to  mitigate  the 
sores,  and  to  make  the  after-scars  less  terrible.  Yet 
she,  and  Bazuzu  also,  felt  that  death  were  now  the 
greatest  boon  for  the  woman. 

Death  did  not  come.  In  spite  of  her  stupor  and  her 
low  temperature,  the  fatal  eighth  day  passed,  and  on 
the  morning  of  the  ninth  Istar  lived  and  was  better. 
She  regained  a  dim  consciousness,  and  the  strength 
to  ask  for  food,  which  was  given  her  in  minute  quan 
tities,  as  also  milk  and  wine.  For  forty-eight  hours 
she  hovered  on  the  brink  of  reawakening;  and  then, 
finally,  she  found  herself. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fifteenth  of  the  month  Istar 
opened  her  eyes  in  the  early  dawn.  She  was  alone. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  room,  upon  her  pallet,  Belta 
ni  lay  in  a  heavy  sleep.  Bazuzu  was  outside  in  the 
square.  Istar  moved  her  hand  and  sighed.  She  felt 
life  coursing  through  her  veins,  and  remembered  the 
past  week  with  only  a  vague,  nightmarish  sense  of 
oppression.  The  air  of  the  morning,  hot  as  it  was, 
had  in  it  the  gathered  sweetness  of  the  long,  starry 
hours.  She  breathed  it  with  joy;  and  for  a  moment 
forgot  the  sorrow  that  must  be  hers  perpetually. 
Presently,  with  an  old  and  habitual  gesture,  she  lifted 
her  hand  to  her  head  to  push  away  her  hair.  And 
her  hand  touched  the  head.  There  was  no  hair  upon 
it.  Rather,  two  or  three  thin  strands  hung  about  her 
ears.  Otherwise  she  was  bald. 

The  heart  of  Istar  gave  a  peculiar  throb.  She  held 
up  both  hands  before  her  eyes ;  and,  as  she  saw  them, 
she  herself  shrank.  The  hands,  those  fragile  hands, 
the  fair,  white  wrists,  the  arms,  were  spotted  and 


468  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

streaked  and  swollen  and  hideously  scabbed.  She 
touched  her  cheek  and  found  raw  flesh  upon  it.  She 
tore  the  covering  from  her  neck.  It  was  the  same. 
Everywhere — everywhere,  from  head  to  foot,  over  her 
whole  body — she  was  accursed.  It  was  the  plague — 
the  plague!  Istar  tottered  to  her  feet  and  uplifted 
her  eyes.  Poor,  weak  eyes!  Yea,  she  was  all  but 
blind.  With  one  low,  wailing  cry  the  afflicted  one  let 
herself  slowly  down,  till  she  lay  prone  upon  the  kindly 
floor  that  did  not  hesitate  to  receive  her.  And  there, 
through  time  and  the  day-dawn,  she  wept  out  the  bur 
den  of  her  soul.  But  of  the  future  and  its  inevitable 
suffering  she  could  not  think.  As  yet  the  way  was 
too  dark,  too  incomprehensible  to  her. 

There  upon  the  floor,  motionless,  Bazuzu  found  her 
two  hours  later.  For  long  minutes  he  stood  over  her, 
helpless,  pitying,  knowing  that  there  was  no  comfort 
to  bring.  But  his  heart  was  full  as  he  felt  the  aban 
don  of  her  attitude.  Presently,  kneeling  at  her  side, 
he  laid  a  horny  hand  gently  upon  one  of  her  shoulders. 
And  from  his  fingers  a  message  of  mute  sympathy 
went  forth  to  her.  When  she  could  bear  that  he  should 
look  upon  her  she  lifted  her  head  and  opened  her  half- 
closed  eyes  to  him.  Then  she  spake,  quietly,  but  with 
authority : 

"Let  my  veil  be  brought,  that  I  may  put  it  upon 
me." 

From  the  corner  where  it  had  lain,  carefully  folded 
by  Beltani,  Bazuzu  brought  it  to  her — the  soft,  black, 
silver -shot  covering  of  her  happiness.  In  silence  he 
watched  the  woman  put  it  on,  wrapping  it  about  her 
so  that  her  head,  her  face,  her  arms,  her  form,  were 
completely  shrouded.  Then,  from  behind  the  veil,  she 
spoke : 

"Let  no  man  evermore  seek  to  behold  me  in  my 
disfigurement.  Behold,  no  longer  am  I  Istar,  but  a 
wanderer  over  the  face  of  the  earth.  I  go  forth  from 
this  house  of  friendliness.  The  voice  of  the  great 


PESTILENCE  469 

God  bids  me  follow  out  my  life  in  desert  places,  in  the 
lands  of  my  enemies." 

Bazuzu,  from  her  words  still  believing  her  more 
than  mortal,  bent  his  head  in  silent  acceptance  of 
her  desires.  She  took  two  or  three  quiet  steps  to  the 
door,  and  then,  when  he  had  thought  her  gone,  turned 
again,  and  softly  said: 

"Thou,  Bazuzu,  and  thy  mistress,  and  the  young 
Greek  whose  house  this  is,  take  what  thanks  I  have 
to  give  thee,  and  the  blessing  of  All-Father  for  thy 
mercy  to  me,  an  outcast.  Gold  have  I  none,  nor  rich 
es  of  any  sort  in  payment  for  your  labor.  But  from 
my  heart  1  bless  thee  for  thy  compassion." 

Then,  like  a  shadow,  she  glided  out  at  the  door, 
across  the  deserted  square,  down  to  the  canal  of  the 
New  Year,  and  along  its  bank,  out  into  the  city. 
Through  the  long  morning  she  moved  through  the 
streets,  accosting  no  one,  stared  at  by  the  multitude, 
but  unaddressed.  Her  miserable  body  burned  and 
ached.  The  sun  poured  down  its  blue-hot  rays  upon 
her  head.  Muffled  as  she  was  in  the  veil,  she  was 
like  to  suffocate  for  air  to  breathe,  yet  she  would  not 
expose  herself  to  the  gaze  of  human  beings.  It  was 
noon  when  she  entered  the  square  of  the  great  gods 
and  passed  the  door  of  the  temple  of  Nergal,  looking 
with  weary  eyes  into  its  vast  and  cool  interior.  At  some 
distance  within  was  a  group  of  priests,  Sangu,  Enu, 
and  Baru,  men  of  importance  in  their  several  stations. 
These  the  plague  -  stricken  eyes  of  the  woman  failed 
in  the  dim  light  to  see.  But  she  was  startled  suddenly 
by  the  appearance  in  the  door- way  of  one  of  them, 
who,  catching  a  sight  of  her,  had  run  quickly  forward, 
and  now  stood  eagerly  staring  at  her  form.  She  did 
not  draw  back  from  the  look,  and  presently  the  priest 
spoke: 

"Thou  that  standest  shadow-like  before  me — art 
thou  she  whom  they  called  Istar  of  Babylon?" 

"I  was  Istar  of  Babylon,"  came  the  gentle  voice. 


470  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

"Was!  Comest  thou  from  Ninkigal?"  The  priest 
started  back  from  her,  turning  a  little  pale. 

"Nay.     Still  I  live;  yet  now  am  nameless." 

"Thou  hast  dwelt  as  a  goddess  in  the  temple  of 
Istar?  Thou  hast  lived  in  the  palace  of  the  king  as 
the  wife  of  Belshazzar?" 

Istar  bent  her  head. 

"Enter,  then,  into  the  temple,  that  I  may  speak 
with  the  others  here  before  you."  He  motioned  her 
to  pass  into  the  building,  and,  obediently,  Istar  en 
tered  it.  She  stood  at  a  little  distance,  while  he  that 
had  accosted  her  returned  to  the  group  of  his  com 
panions  and  spoke  with  them.  In  a  few  moments  they 
summoned  Istar  to  their  midst.  She  came  quite  close, 
and  they  eyed  her  in  silence  for  a  little  while.  Then 
one  said : 

"Ay.  It  is  Istar  of  Babylon.  I  saw  her  thus  from 
afar  on  the  night  of  the  feast  of  Tammuz." 

"  She  is  well  found.  Istar,  for  eight  days  hast  thou 
been  sought  throughout  the  Great  City.  Kurush,  the 
conqueror,  demands  thy  presence  before  him.  He  has 
heard  of  thee  and  thy  beauty,  and  the  strange  things 
thou  art  said  to  know;  and  he  would  have  beheld 
thee  on  the  day  after  the  taking  of  the  city.  But  we 
have  searched  for  thee  in  vain.  Where  hast  thou 
hidden?" 

"  I  fulfilled  my  days.  I  will  go  now,  if  he  wills,  be 
fore  the  great  conqueror.  Haste  were  best,  for  the 
time  to  the  end  is  not  now  long." 

The  priests  looked  at  each  other  uncertainly.  Her 
words  had  in  them  a  ring  of  prophecy.  They  con 
sulted  for  a  little  among  themselves,  till  Istar  herself 
made  all  things  easy  for  them : 

"  Let  a  swift  runner  be  sent  to  the  camp  of  Cyrus, 
and  let  the  great  king  be  told  that,  one  hour  after  the 
departure  of  the  messenger,  I  come  to  him.  In  that 
hour  I  will  rest  here  in  the  temple,  for  I  am  weak  in 
body.  Then  ye  may  lead  me  out  by  the  gate  of  Bel 


PESTILENCE  471 

to  the  camp  of  the  conqueror,  and  there  shall  ye  leave 
me.  From  that  camp  let  no  man  follow  me  forth. 
Now  have  I  spoken/' 

And  the  priests  heard  the  words  of  Istar  and  found 
them  to  be  good ;  and  that  which  she  had  commanded 
was  done. 


XXI 
KURUSH    THE    KING 

THE  camp  of  the  invading  army  lay  spread  over 
the  sun-burned  plain  like  a  camp  of  the  dead. 
There  was  hardly  a  sign  of  life  round  any  of  the  many- 
colored  tents.  The  very  horses  and  pack-mules,  teth 
ered  in  a  herd  in  the  midst  of  the  desert  of  dry  grass, 
lay  for  the  most  part  panting  with  heat,  pining,  no 
doubt,  for  the  distant,  breezy  hills  of  fair  Iran  and 
the  snowy  highlands  of  Media,  where  they  had  been 
born  and  bred.  Those  of  the  soldiers  not  quartered 
inside  the  city  lay  under  the  shadow  of  their  tents, 
hardly  caring  to  exert  themselves  to  speak,  sleeping 
if  they  could,  drinking  as  much  as  was  to  be  had  if 
they  could  not.  Almost  the  only  person  abroad  in 
the  noontide  was  the  commander  himself,  who,  with 
one  companion,  was  going  through  the  camp,  mak 
ing  one  of  his  impromptu  examinations  of  his  men 
and  their  armament.  Hardened  as  he  was  by  years 
of  campaigning  in  strange  countries,  Cyrus  to-day 
found  Babylon  as  unbearable  as  any  one.  His  body 
was  damp  with  sweat,  and  his  breathing,  as  he  walked, 
was  audible.  The  blue  quiver  of  heat  that  came  from 
the  great  desert  near  by  made  his  eyes  bloodshot, 
and  caused  him  to  see  with  no  little  difficulty.  Still, 
remonstrate  as  he  would,  the  white-robed  man  that 
walked  with  him  succeeded  only  in  making  Cyrus 
more  thorough  and  more  lingering  at  his  task. 

The  commander's  two  sons,  however,  had  not  the 
energy  of  their  father.     They  lay  on  divans  in  the 


KURUSH    THE    KING  473 

royal  tent,  Bardiya,  the  younger  and  more  favored  of 
the  two,  strumming  idly  on  a  musical  instrument; 
Cambyses,  content  to  be  still,  drinking  bowl  after  bowl 
of  a  concoction  supplied  by  a  slave,  pausing  occasion 
ally  in  the  bibulous  process  to  curse  at  the  flies  and 
winged  insects  that  swarmed  about  him.  Presently, 
looking  over  at  his  brother,  who  for  the  moment  had 
ceased  to  play,  he  asked,  civilly : 

"In  thy  pilgrimage  of  yesterday,  Bardiya,  didst 
discover  any  cool  spot  in  the  city  yonder?" 

Bardiya  drew  himself  together  with  a  little  gest 
ure  of  disgust,  and  his  brother's  features  broadened 
with  a  grin.  "  Babylon  is  city  of  filth,  of  disease,  of 
death.  Thousands  within  it  die  of  the  plague.  Those 
that  sicken  and  those  that  are  dead  lie  alike  in  the 
open  streets.  There  is  no  relief.  The  very  river  runs 
like  molten  metal.  On  the  pavement  bricks  the  flesh 
of  a  slain  animal  could  be  roasted  to  a  turn.  I  go  no 
more  to  Babylon." 

Cambyses  laughed.  "  And  her  whom  you  sought, 
Bardiya — she  loved  you  not?" 

Bardiya,  highly  displeased  at  the  tone,  replied: 
"  She  is  not  in  the  city ;  or,  if  she  is,  no  man  knows 
where  she  lies  hid.  Some  say  that  she  ascended  to 
the  silver  sky  with  the  spirit  of  Bel  -  shar  -  utsur,  who 
was  her  husband.  Again  they  tell  me  she  was  mur 
dered  with  the  other  women  in  the  temple  of  Bel- 
Marduk,  on  the  night  we  took  the  city.  Howbeit,  no 
man  really  knows  whether  or  not  Istar  of  Babylon  still 
lives." 

Cambyses  laughed  again.  "Istar  of  Babylon!  A 
myth !  She  lives  no  more  than  any  other  god.  Think 
you  the  great  Ahura  comes  down  among  men,  a 
man?" 

But  Bardiya 's  faith  would  not  be  shaken,  and  he 
had  begun  an  elaborate  protestation,  when  the  con 
versation  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  Cyrus, 
returning  from  his  round  with  Amraphel  of  Bel  at  his 


474  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

side.  At  the  entrance  of  their  father  the  young  men 
rose  and  saluted  him  with  a  respect  that  was  the  more 
marked  because  both  of  them  utterly  ignored  the  pres 
ence  of  the  high-priest. 

Amraphers  bearing  was  a  curious  contrast  to  that 
of  the  conqueror.  It  was  replete  with  affectation  and 
bombastic  dignity,  and  whatever  mortification  he  felt 
at  the  want  of  recognition  shown  him  by  Cyrus'  sons, 
was  manifested  only  by  an  increased  loftiness  of  car 
riage. 

The  king  seated  himself  in  an  ivory  chair  before  a 
little  stone  table  that  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  tent, 
and  he  motioned  Amraphel  at  the  same  time  to  a  stool 
at  his  side.  No  sooner  was  he  seated  than  the  priest 
began  to  speak  upon  what  was  evidently  a  continued 
subject,  already  much  discussed.  And  though  his 
tone  was  in  itself  sufficiently  self-satisfied,  the  terms 
in  which  he  spoke  were  exceedingly  unlike  those  that 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  use  to  the  whilom  king  of 
Babylon.  Where  once  had  been  unutterable  arrogance 
and  supercilious  disdain  of  everything,  was  now  eager 
flattery,  cajolements,  toadyism,  and  unceasing  assur 
ances  of  devotion.  In  the  Elamite  of  plebeian  parent 
age,  Amraphel  had  found  a  none  too  complacent 
master. 

"And  does  my  lord  the  king  think  his  city  ill- 
governed,  that  he  is  not  content  to  remain  in  safety 
outside  its  unhealthy  walls?  Nay,  great  Kurush, 
thine  every  command,  to  the  least  of  them,  is  given 
there  by  me,  and  strictly  obeyed  by  those  in  office  under 
me.  As  I  have  said,  the  city  is  loyal  to  you,  through 
my  teachings." 

Cyrus  bit  his  beard  impatiently.  "It  is  not  that  I 
fear  lest  my  commands  be  disregarded.  You  I  hold 
responsible  for  their  fulfilment.  It  is  that  I  would 
better  know  what  commands  to  give.  Here  am  I, 
native  of  another  land,  ignorant  of  Babylonish  ways, 
of  Babylonish  needs,  knowing  no  one  street,  no  tern- 


KURUSH    THE    KING  475 

pie  in  all  the  city,  striving  to  govern  it  from  this  camp 
outside  the  walls.     It  is  folly,  priest!" 

"  Nay,  most  mighty  king.  What  the  people  need,  I 
know.  What  they  want  shall  be  given.  Fear  not — " 

"  Fear  not ! "  Cyrus  turned  on  him  with  such  a 
look  that  the  high -priest  started  in  confusion  and 
shrank  away  a  little,  while  from  his  corner  Cambyses 
laughed  harshly ;  but  Bardiya  scowled  at  the  presump 
tion  of  the  priest.  At  sound  of  the  laugh  Amraphel 
flushed  with  anger;  and  Cyrus,  controlling  himself 
again,  observed,  in  a  gentler  tone : 

"  Yesterday  Bardiya,  my  son,  went  into  the  city 
yonder ;  and  his  story  of  those  that  perish  of  the  plague 
is  grievous." 

"The  young  prince,  the  son  of  my  lord,  came  into 
the  city!"  exclaimed  Amraphel,  in  chagrin.  "Why, 
then,  sought  he  me  not  in  my  house?" 

"  For  the  reason  that  he  sought  another  and  a  fair 
er  than  thou,  good  Amraphel,"  replied  Cambyses,  in  a 
highly  impertinent  tone. 

"Whom  didst  thou  seek,  prince?"  asked  the  priest, 
turning  to  Bardiya. 

"Her  whom  they  call  Istar  of  Babylon." 

"Ah!     Where  didst  thou  learn  that  name?" 

"It  is  to  be  heard  through  all  the  east — and  west — 
and  north.  No  man  but  knows  of  the  living  goddess 
of  Babylon.  Yet  within  the  walls  of  her  city  I  found 
her  not,  nor  any  that  could  tell  me  where  she  dwelt. 
Is  there  such  an  one,  Amraphel?" 

"Now  is  it  seven  days  since  I  sent  asking  that  she 
be  brought  to  me,  or  that  I  may  have  permission  to 
go  before  her,"  observed  Cyrus,  thoughtfully.  "  Yet 
hath  she  not  come,  nor  have  I  had  any  word  from 
her." 

"  There  was  indeed  an  Istar  of  Babylon,  who  was 
wedded  to  Belshazzar,  the  dead  tyrant.  And  her 
beauty,  were  it  famed  at  all,  were  rightly  famed  over 
all  the  world.  Yet  was  she  no  goddess:  rather  a  sor- 


476  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

ceress,  a  witch,  a  demon,  most  wicked,  most  impure. 
Since  the  night  of  the  taking  of  the  city  she  hath  been 
seen  by  no  man.  She  it  was,  no  doubt,  that  mur 
dered  Belshazzar  the  king,  whom  my  lord  commanded 
to  be  saved  from  death  and  to  be  brought  before  him. 
Now,  doubtless,  she  hath  taken  his  spirit  with  her 
down  to  her  kingdom,  down  to  Mulge,  where  she  and 
he  feast  by  day  upon  the  dust  of  the  dead,  and  by 
night  upon  the  blood  of  living  beings;  for  they  are 
vampires.  Yea,  verily,  Istar  of  Babylon  is  no  more, 
0  king." 

There  was  a  little  silence.  Amraphel's  words  had 
been  spoken  with  every  appearance  of  sincerity;  and 
the  idea  that  he  presented  was  sufficiently  weird  to 
appeal  to  the  lively  imaginations  of  the  Elamites. 
Bardiya  gave  a  little  sigh,  and  Cambyses  and  his 
father  were  for  a  moment  lost  in  thought,  when  the 
party  was  broken  in  upon  by  a  man  that  appeared 
suddenly  in  the  door-way  of  the  tent,  and,  seeing  Cy 
rus  and  the  high-priest  together,  bent  the  knee  before 
them  and  asked  permission  to  speak.  He  was  a  run 
ner,  or  messenger,  from  the  city,  and  as  such  his 
unceremonious  entrance  was  pardonable  —  nay,  cus 
tomary. 

"  What  wouldst  thou,  swift  one?"  demanded  the  king, 
good-humoredly. 

"May  the  lord  king  of  the  city  live  forever!  I  am 
come  with  word  from  her  that  is  called  Istar  of  Baby 
lon,  whose  presence  before  thee  thou  hast  desired.  Be 
hold  she  follows  me  hither  in  one  hour;  and  she  sends 
her  greeting  to  the  great  conqueror." 

Cyrus,  with  a  mixture  of  surprise  and  amusement, 
glanced  at  the  priest,  who  was  a  fair  picture  of  un 
easiness. 

"Say,  runner,"  asked  the  king,  teasingly,  "the 
Lady  Istar,  did  she  rise  before  thee  out  of  the  ground 
from  the  land  of  Ninkigal?  Came  she  forth  before 
thine  eyes?  Or  art  even  thou,  perchance,  a  ghost?" 


KURUSH    THE    KING  477 

The  man  looked  his  bewilderment  at  the  king,  and 
this  time  Bardiya  himself  roared  with  laughter. 

"  The  Lady  Istar  is  living.  The  message  was  given 
me  by  a  priest  of  Nergal,  who  comes  to  conduct  the 
lady  before  thee.  I  know  no  more,  0  king!" 

"Then  take  thy  leave,  fellow,"  cried  Cyrus,  tossing 
him  a  shekel  from  his  girdle,  and  smiling  as  the  man 
prostrated  with  lightning-like  rapidity  and  was  up 
and  gone  from  the  tent  like  an  arrow  from  the  bow, 
ere  Amraphel  had  time  to  speak. 

Now  the  high-priest  rose,  and,  with  an  air  of  angry 
dignity,  demanded  permission  to  retire.  Cyrus  gave 
it  willingly  enough,  for  the  man  wearied  him,  and 
continually  angered  him  by  his  presumption.  Thus, 
then,  a  moment  later,  the  high-priest  was  mounting  his 
chariot  at  the  edge  of  the  camp,  and  might  presently 
have  been  seen  rolling  swiftly  away  in  the  direction  of 
the  gate  of  Bel. 

Cyrus  and  his  sons  were  left  alone  till  the  coming  of 
her  whose  name  had  so  long  been  familiar  to  them. 
At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  Bardiya  rose  from  his  place, 
straightened  his  tunic,  and  went  over  to  the  door  of 
the  tent  to  look  out  upon  the  plain  in  the  direction  of 
the  city.  Cyrus  and  Cambyses  were  eating  their  de 
layed  noon  meal ;  but  the  younger  man,  whose  vein  of 
romance  was  marked,  refused  food,  and  stood  here 
alone,  looking  out  over  the  parched  fields.  From  time 
to  time  his  father  asked  if  anything  were  to  be  seen 
of  their  promised  visitor ;  and  always  came  the  reply : 

"Neither  chariot  nor  litter  do  I  see." 

Then  finally,  as  all  three  of  them  grew  impatient  at 
the  delay,  the  youth  added:  "But  there  are,  near  at 
hand,  a  company  of  priests  on  foot,  and  in  their  midst 
is  some  one  clad  in  black.  They  come  towards  our 
tent.  Perhaps — " 

Cyrus  came  over  and  stood  at  his  shoulder.  "I 
think  it  is  the  woman,"  he  said.  And  he  was  right. 

The  three  of  them,  the  great  king  in  the  centre, 


478  ISTAR   OF    BABYLON 

Cambyses  on  the  right  hand,  Bardiya  on  the  left, 
stood  in  the  door-way  of  the  tent  as  the  little  band  of 
white-robed  priests  came  up  to  them.  There  was  a 
slow,  sinking  reverence  on  the  part  of  the  attendants, 
and  from  their  midst  came  forth  a  tall,  slight  figure 
muffled  in  the  silver  -  shining  veil.  Seeing  her,  the 
conqueror  and  his  sons  all  three  inclined  their  bodies, 
and  then  Cyrus  stretched  out  his  hand. 

"  Istar  of  Babylon,  we  give  you  greeting  in  the  name 
of  Elam  and  Media,  and  we  bid  you  welcome  to  this 
tent  of  the  plain." 

Istar  bent  her  head,  acknowledging  the  courtesy,  but 
denied  her  hand  to  him  that  mutely  asked  it.  Turn 
ing  slightly,  she  dismissed  the  priests,  who,  remem 
bering  her  commands,  accepted  the  gesture  and  de 
parted  from  her  reluctantly. 

Then  Istar  entered  the  tent  and  took  the  chair  that 
Cambyses  hastened  to  place  for  her.  Cyrus  also  seated 
himself,  but  the  young  men  stood.  Now  that  speech 
seemed  demanded  of  him,  the  great  king  looked  a  little 
uncertain  of  himself.  He  glanced  at  the  concealing 
veil  which  the  woman  still  kept  close  around  her,  and 
he  longed  greatly  to  ask  for  a  sight  of  the  far  -  famed 
face.  Yet  that  was  a  request  that  he  dared  not  make. 
Istar,  however,  read  his  mind  without  difficulty,  and  let 
her  head  sink  sorrowfully  upon  her  breast.  It  seemed 
to  her  at  last  that  her  cup  of  bitterness  was  full ;  and 
she  whispered  a  little  prayer  into  the  silence.  Cyrus 
caught  three  or  four  of  her  low  words,  and  these  gave 
him  an  opening  for  speech. 

"You  speak  to  the  gods.  Is  it  with  the  gods  of 
Babylon  that  you  hold  communion,  lady?" 

"There  is  no  god  but  God,  great  king;  and  Him, 
in  their  hearts,  all  men  must  worship." 

Cyrus  looked  slightly  puzzled,  and  his  curiosity 
was  stronger  than  ever.  Yielding  to  an  impulse,  he 
leaned  over,  asking :  "  Istar  of  Babylon,  who  art 
thou?" 


KURUSH    THE    KING  479 

Istar  glanced  round  her.  "Let  thy  sons  depart, 
that  we  may  be  alone/'  she  said,  in  a  quiet  command. 

Cyrus  made  a  gesture  that  the  young  men  dared 
not  disobey,  and,  however  much  against  their  wills, 
they  quickly  left  the  tent.  In  departing,  Bardiya  let 
fall  the  curtain  at  the  door,  so  that  the  king  and  the 
king's  visitor  were  alone  in  the  pleasant  half-light. 
Then  Istar  spoke:  "Thou  hast  asked  what  I  am,  0 
king.  Tell  me  first  who  art  thou,  and  thereafter  1 
will  answer  thee. " 

"I  am  Kurush,  an  Achaemenian. " 

"And  I  am  Istar,  a  woman,  sent  of  God  to  be  pun 
ished  on  earth." 

"Unveil  thyself,  woman.  Let  me  behold  that  face 
that  the  world  has  worshipped." 

Istar  rose.  She  was  trembling  slightly  in  her  great 
shame.  Yet  there  was  no  hesitation  in  her  move 
ments.  With  a  dexterous  twist  she  flung  off  her  veil 
and  stood  revealed  before  the  conqueror  in  all  her  un 
speakable  ugliness. 

Cyrus  let  a  cry  escape  him.  "Thou!  Thou  art 
not  Istar  of  Babylon!" 

She  folded  both  hands  across  her  breast  and  her  dim 
eyes  closed.  "  I  am  Istar  of  Babylon,"  she  said,  softly. 

After  the  shock  of  first  seeing  her,  the  king  had 
looked  away.  Now,  as  she  stood  there  before  him, 
mute  and  motionless,  he  struggled  with  himself  to  let 
his  eyes  return  to  her  without  outward  betrayal  of  his 
feeling.  When  finally  he  looked  again  his  brown 
orbs  were  clear  and  calm,  and  he  showed  no  sign  of 
repulsion.  For  one,  two,  three  minutes  he  looked  upon 
her  face  till,  in  spite  of  the  frightful  complexion,  he 
began  to  perceive  its  fundamental  beauty.  Of  her 
eyes,  only,  he  could  not  judge.  They  were  swollen, 
red,  matterated,  nearly  closed.  Otherwise  he  knew 
from  what  he  saw  that  she  had  once  been  rarely  beau 
tiful.  Only — always — she  was  hideous  now — hideous 
beyond  belief. 


480  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Knowing  well  his  mind,  how  she  revolted  him,  how 
strong  was  his  desire  to  leave  her  presence,  Istar  still 
stood  before  the  great  king.  It  was  her  final  morti 
fication,  and  even  her  going  forth  from  the  temple  of 
Bel  under  Amraphel's  lash  had  not  been  so  terrible 
to  her  as  this.  Yet  now,  by  degrees,  as  if  a  magnetic 
current  passed  between  them,  some  understanding  of 
what  she  underwent  came  home  to  the  warrior.  Com 
passion  and  pity  took  the  place  of  horror.  His  face 
grew  very  gentle,  and,  moving  to  Istar's  side,  he  laid 
one  hand  on  her  cotton-clad  shoulder. 

"Istar,  thou  hast  greatly  suffered.     Is  it  not  so?" 

She  shrank  back  from  his  touch  as  if  she  knew  all 
that  the  move  had  cost  him.  But  the  question  she 
answered  freely,  without  hesitation. 

"  I  have  suffered,  yea,  by  day  and  by  night,  for  many 
months.  I  doubted  the  wisdom  of  the  Lord,  and  I  am 
punished.  I  became  mortal.  I  loved;  and  that  that 
I  loved  more  than  myself  death  hath  taken  from  me. 
Fame,  honor,  riches,  purity,  love,  and  beauty  are  gone. 
Nothing  now  remains.  The  end  draws  near.  From 
afar  I  hear  the  voice  of  my  beloved  calling  me. 

"  Thou,  0  king,  great  king,  lord  of  the  gate  of  God, 
art  at  the  zenith  of  thy  glory.  Thy  greatest  victory 
is  won.  Thy  time  here  is  not  much  longer.  After 
thee  come  two  that  shall  dispute  the  throne,  and  they 
shall  fare  forth  from  the  world  in  the  bloodshed  of  mur 
der  and  self-murder.  After  them  cometh  one  greater 
than  either,  that  shall  enter  Babylon  from  another 
country.  For  him  the  sun  grows  golden.  He  shall 
put  down  usurpers  from  his  seat ;  and  for  a  little  while 
shall  hold  and  rule  the  kingdom  with  a  strong  and 
mighty  hand.  And  then — I  see  the  city  slowly  sink 
— under  the  weight  of  time.  One  more  conqueror  she 
shall  know :  a  youth  of  iron  from  a  land  of  gold.  And 
he  shall  set  the  world  aghast  with  his  conquests;  but 
he  shall  find  his  tomb  there  within  the  Great  City  of  his 
conquering.  After  him  the  East  grows  black.  The 


KURUSH    THE    KING  481 

rose  shall  wither  unseen  upon  her  tree.  Even  to  the 
banks  of  the  great  river  blow  thick  the  desert  sands. 
Walls  and  palaces  shall  crumble  away.  And  upon 
the  broken  stairs  of  the  tower  of  Bel  a  jewel  of  great 
price  lies  for  many  centuries  unheeded  in  the  univer 
sal  desolation.  And  for  centuries,  Achaemenian,  thou 
shalt  sleep,  ere  thou  art  known  again  as  king  of  Baby 
lon — the  city  of  my  lord." 

With  the  ending  of  her  vision  I  star  smiled  slowly 
upon  him  that  watched  her  with  troubled  eyes.  As 
the  spell  passed  she  trembled,  and,  stooping,  picked 
up  the  veil  that  lay  about  her  feet.  Cyrus  moved  for 
ward  as  if  he  would  have  stopped  her. 

"  Speak  on !  Let  me  hear  again  that  that  thou  hast 
foretold.  Such  prophecy  as  this  no  seer  of  my  court 
hath  ever  made." 

But  Istar's  fire  was  gone.  The  light  in  her  face 
died  away,  and  in  its  death  Cyrus  read  her  answer  to 
his  plea.  Then  she  wrapped  herself  again  in  the  cover 
ing  that  hid  her  plight,  and  from  it,  as  from  behind  a 
mask,  she  spoke  again : 

"Thou,  0  Cyrus,  who  hast  beheld  me  in  mine  ug 
liness,  must  carry  with  thee  the  memory  of  it  for 
ever.  Yet  know  that  Istar  of  Babylon  hath  humbled 
herself  before  thee  as  before  no  living  man.  My  king 
is  dead.  In  his  place,  by  reason  of  thy  gentleness  and 
justice,  I  hail  thee  lord  of  Chaldea  and  of  Babylon." 
And  thereupon,  before  Cyrus  understood  what  she  did 
or  could  prevent  the  act,  Istar  knelt  at  his  feet  and 
touched  them,  the  right  and  the  left,  with  her  forehead, 
in  the  manner  of  the  day. 

With  a  quick  exclamation  Cyrus  lifted  her  up;  but 
she  spoke  gently  to  him,  saying : 

"That  that  was  written  have  I  done.  Censure  me 
not.  I  but  obeyed  my  law.  Now  fare  thee  well,  0 
king.  The  end  cometh,  and  I  go  forth  to  meet  it." 

"Nay,  Istar — hold!  One  question  more!  Thou, 
his  wife,  art  accused  of  the  murder  of  the  king  of 

3« 


482  ISTAR   OF   BABYLON 

Babylon,  whom  I  commanded  to  be  brought  before 
me  living  and  unhurt  from  the  feast  in  the  temple. 
How  dost  thou  answer  this  accusation?" 

"Who  hath  accused  me  of  the  deed?" 

"The  priest  of  Bel." 

"Amraphel?" 

"Yea." 

"Then  I  ask  thee  only  why  I  should  have  killed 
him  that  my  soul  loves  as  it  loved  not  God?" 

"Knowest  thou,  then,  the  murderer?" 

"He  that  accused  me  shall,  in  God's  time,  answer 
to  that  charge.  But  thou,  Cyrus,  see  that  thou  pun 
ish  him  not.  Thy  hands  are  red  with  the  blood  of 
many  slain  in  battle;  and  shall  the  slayer  accuse  the 
slayer?  Now  speak  no  more  to  me.  I  return  again 
to  the  city." 

In  spite  of  her  last  bidding,  Cyrus,  slightly  angered 
by  her  perfect  assurance,  would  have  spoken  again, 
had  he  not  found  it  to  be  a  physical  impossibility.  It 
was  in  his  heart  to  accuse  her  of  his  own  accord  of 
the  death  of  Belshazzar.  Yet  he  could  not  voice  the 
thought.  As  she  left  the  tent  he  moved  after  her  to 
the  door-way,  whence  he  could  look  over  the  plain  to 
the  walls  of  the  city.  He  saw  the  black-robed  figure 
glide  unaccosted  through  the  camp  and  beyond  it,  in 
the  direction  that  Amraphel  had  taken  more  than  an 
hour  before.  And  as  he  watched  her  Cyrus  felt  a 
great  reverence  spring  up  in  his  heart,  and  in  the 
after-wonder  at  her  bearing  and  her  words  he  forgot 
how  she  had  looked.  And  presently,  as  he  stood  there 
lost  in  thought,  Bardiya  came  to  his  shoulder,  asking, 
softly : 

"My  father,  is  she  all  that  men  have  said?" 

Cyrus  hesitated  in  his  reply.  Finally,  after  a  long 
pause,  he  answered  of  his  own  will :  "  More  wonderful 
than  any  have  said.  She  is  a  woman  sent  of  God." 


XXII 
AT    THE    GATE 

I  STAR  went  quietly  over  the  plain  towards  the  gate 
of  Bel,  by  which  she  purposed  re-entering  Babylon, 
intending  to  pass  the  night  in  some  one  of  the  temples, 
those  refuges  for  all  the  outcast  paupers  of  the  Great 
City.  As  she  went,  she  thought  upon  Cyrus  the  king 
and  her  talk  with  him,  and  also  of  the  prophecy  that 
had  been  put  into  her  mouth. 

When  she  left  the  conqueror's  tent  her  mind  had 
been  at  rest.  She  had  neither  fear  nor  desire.  But 
now,  as  she  drew  near  the  city  gate,  and  could  hear, 
as  from  a  great  distance,  sounds  of  life  coming  from 
the  re"bit,  or  market,  held  outside  Nimitti  -  Bel,  she 
quickened  with  uneasiness  and  excitement.  Coming 
nearer,  she  perceived  that  there  was  a  great  gathering 
in  the  mart,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that,  over  the  gen 
eral  murmur  of  buyers  and  venders,  one  single  voice 
was  speaking.  She  did  not  recognize  the  tall,  white- 
robed  figure  standing  in  the  very  centre  of  the  throng, 
gesticulating  as  he  spoke;  nor  could  her  ears  distin 
guish  any  of  his  words.  Quietly  enough  she  came 
along  her  way,  instinctively  knowing  that  danger 
threatened  her ;  while,  in  the  square,  Amraphel  of  Bel 
spoke  to  the  gathering  crowd  of  Babylonians  and 
Jews,  some  of  whom  he  himself  had  brought,  some  of 
whom  had  been  here  in  any  case,  all  of  whom  were 
now  waiting  for  the  inevitable  return  of  Istar  to  the 
city. 

It  was  in  this  wise  that  Amraphel  addressed  them: 


484  ISTAR    OF^  BABYLON 

"Hear  ye,  men  and  women!  Listen,  and  heed  the 
word  1"  He  paused,  while  the  noise  in  the  market-place 
grew  gradually  less.  "Listen  and  heed,  and  obey 
my  word! 

"Now  comes  there  among  you  one  from  the  camp 
of  Kurush  the  conqueror,  who,  in  shame  of  guilt,  hath 
not  been  equalled  in  the  Great  City.  The  woman  of 
Babylon,  the  witch,  the  disciple  of  Namtar  the  plague- 
demon  ;  she  by  whose  hand  Nabonidus  and  Belshazzar 
both  have  fallen ;  she  who  for  so  long  polluted  the  holy 
sanctuary  of  Istar;  she  who,  in  her  nameless  wrath, 
visits  the  city  with  the  great  death ;  she  who  hath  lain 
for  days  in  the  camp  of  the  conqueror,  vainly  weaving 
her  spells  about  his  dauntless  heart ;  she  who  hath,  in 
sacrilege,  been  called  Istar  of  Babylon,  would  now  come 
once  more  among  ye. 

"My  people,  will  ye  let  her  in  among  your  dead 
in  the  city?  Will  ye  again  receive  her  that  hath 
wrought  this  infinite  woe?  Will  ye  not,  rather,  in 
the  names  of  the  great  gods,  drive  her  forth  from 
the  city  gates  with  stones  and  scourges,  as  from  your 
hearths  by  night  you  exorcise  Namtar  her  com 
panion? 

"Behold,  there  comes  she  among  you,  even  now, 
black  -  veiled.  In  the  name  of  Bel,  our  god,  I  bid  ye 
drive  her  from  your  presence  here  in  Babilu!" 

Hardly  comprehending  at  first  the  violent  words  of 
the  high-priest,  the  people  had  listened  open-mouthed. 
When,  however,  they  understood  that  she  whom  he 
had  designated  as  the  incarnation  of  all  evil  was  com 
ing  among  them  from  the  camp  of  the  Elamite,  there 
was  a  quick  struggle  to  reach  the  front  rank  of  the 
crowd.  As  yet  the  Babylonians  were  moved  by  curi 
osity  rather  than  by  wrath,  for  they  were  a  slow  peo 
ple  and  not  unreasonable.  The  Jews,  however,  as 
many  as  were  there,  were  of  a  different  temperament, 
and  it  was  they  that  began,  little  by  little,  to  raise 
that  ominous,  angry  murmur  that  will  quicken  a  mob 


AT    THE    G  ATE  485 

to  violence  sooner  than  any  speech  of  a  professional 
anarch. 

Among  the  throng  was  Charmides  the  Greek,  come 
out  an  hour  before  to  buy  barley  for  his  house,  and 
remaining  to  chat  for  a  time  with  the  cheery  coun 
trymen  that  were  unaffected  by  the  depression  of  the 
city.  Charmides  had  heard  the  words  of  Amraphel 
with  a  natural  sense  of  horror,  and  now  turned  to  look 
incredulously  over  the  plain.  There,  fifty  yards  away, 
was  she  for  whom  he  and  Bazuzu  had  vainly  sought 
since  morning.  There  indeed  was  she,  the  tall,  slight, 
black-clothed  figure,  advancing  slowly  towards  the 
gate.  In  obedience  to  a  quick  impulse,  Charmides 
ran  hastily  forth  from  the  square  and  placed  himself 
before  her  in  her  path.  The  ominous  shouts  of  the 
mob  behind  him  came  clearly  to  his  ears,  but  he  paid 
no  heed  to  them.  He  was  within  five  feet  of  her  before 
Istar  recognized  him  from  behind  her  heavy  veil.  Then 
immediately  she  spoke  to  him,  in  the  poor,  cracked 
voice  that  contained  not  a  trace  of  its  former  mel 
ody. 

"Comest  thou  from  the  city  to  meet  me,  O  Greek? 
Among  so  many,  yet  I  shall  not  lose  my  way." 

"Lady  Istar,  turn  thou  back.  Turn  away  from 
the  gate!  Amraphel  there  incites  the  mob  to  take 
thy  life.  Therefore  be  warned.  Come  thou  with  me. 
I  will  support  you.  We  will  enter  the  city  later  by 
another  way." 

Istar  stopped  and  hesitated  a  little.  She  lifted  her 
eyes  to  look  at  the  great  throng  in  the  rebit,  and  she 
could  read  their  intent  from  the  attitude  they  took. 
Then  she  turned  again  to  Charmides,  who  would  have 
taken  her  about  the  body  to  help  her  on  in  her  weak 
ness. 

"Nay,  Greek!"  She  started  back  from  him.  "Lay 
not  thy  hand  upon  me!  My  very  flesh  is  accursed! 
Thou  givest  timely  warning,  yet  1  go  up  to  meet  them 
that  hate  me.  Have  I  not  said  the  end  is  near?  Seek 


486  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

not  to  hold  the  blessed  freedom  from  me.  Let  us  go 
up  to  meet  them  at  the  gate." 

Startled  by  the  calm  determination  of  her  manner, 
Charmides  could  find  no  fitting  remonstrance  for  her. 
Indeed,  he  knew  at  once  that  it  were  useless  to  attempt 
to  combat  her  will.  More,  he  felt  it  to  be  irreverent. 
Keeping,  then,  close  at  her  side,  hoping  to  shield  her 
with  his  own  body  from  those  in  the  market-place,  he 
walked  with  her  up  the  gradual  ascent  to  the  gate. 
At  first  their  approach  was  watched  with  murmurs  of 
disapproval.  The  angry  prejudice  of  the  Jews  was 
beginning  to  extend  to  the  Babylonians  also,  and  mo 
mentarily  Charmides  expected  the  first  stone.  But  as 
she  approached  something  in  the  bearing  of  the  veiled 
woman  stilled  the  voice  of  the  mob.  She  was  com 
ing  among  them  apparently  without  either  fear  or  hesi 
tation.  It  was  perhaps  her  fearlessness  that  sent  the 
little  tremor  of  shame  into  the  minds  of  most  of  the 
company.  Amraphel  saw  this  almost  instantly,  and 
quickly  set  to  work.  There  was  a  slight  movement 
along  the  face  of  the  mob,  and  when  Istar  stood 
within  fifteen  feet  of  them  she  found  herself  confronted 
by  a  solid  line  of  Jews  that  looked  upon  her  with  a 
cold  impassivity  that  foreboded  an  evil  ending  to  this 
strange  hour. 

Seeing  that  her  way  was  barred,  and  b3^  what  im 
movable  men,  Istar  finally  halted.  She  looked  about 
her  from  side  to  side,  betraying  for  the  first  time  a 
little  uncertainty  of  manner.  It  was  as  if  the  guid 
ing  spirit  that  had  so  far  led  her  was  suddenly  gone  ; 
as  if  at  last  she  was  alone,  unprotected,  mentally  and 
physically,  before  an  inimical  world.  With  a  little  gest 
ure  of  bewilderment  she  turned  to  the  Greek  at  her  side. 

"Charmides,"  she  said,  faintly,  "what  do  they  here? 
Why  do  they  oppose  my  coming?" 

"Men  of  Babylon,"  shouted  Charmides,  command- 
ingly,  "open  your  ranks!  Let  the  Lady  Istar  pass 
through  to  the  gate  of  Bel!" 


AT    THE    GATE  487 

A  low,  sullen  murmur  of  refusal  rose  from  the  men  in 
the  front  line.  Not  one  of  them  moved.  There  was 
not  so  much  as  a  glance  of  encouragement  for  Char- 
mides  in  his  hopeless  championship  of  the  woman. 
Nevertheless  the  Greek  cried  again: 

"What  right  have  ye  to  forbid  that  she  enter  the 
city?" 

Then  came  a  voice  from  the  midst  of  the  throng, 
a  strident  voice,  and  one  harsh  with  age,  known  too 
well  both  to  Istar  and  to  her  protector.  "The  witch 
of  the  plague  shall  enter  no  more  into  the  city.  Long 
enough,  creature  of  Namtar,  hast  thou  worked  de 
struction  among  us.  Let  the  demon  thy  master  save 
thee  from  our  wrath!"  And  with  the  last  words  a 
piece  of  broken  brick  was  hurled  from  out  of  the 
throng,  striking  Istar  upon  the  shoulder. 

Instantly  Charmides  sprang  in  front  of  her,  but, 
violently  trembling,  she  pushed  him  back.  Quite 
alone,  quite  unprotected,  she  faced  the  mob,  even  ad 
vanced  to  them  a  step  or  two,  while  she  asked,  faintly : 

"  What  is  this  that  ye  call  me?  Servant  of  Namtar? 
Witch  of  the  plague?" 

"Yea  verily,  wicked  one!" 

"Witch!" 

"Sorceress!" 

"Murderess!" 

With  the  last  word  two  or  three  more  stones  came 
towards  her,  one  of  them  striking  her  upon  the  knee, 
another  passing  just  over  her  head. 

Istar  drew  a  long  sigh,  and  for  an  instant  she  closed 
her  world-weary  eyes.  Thereafter,  with  a  slighter 
movement  than  she  had  used  before  Cyrus,  she  caused 
the  veil  to  fall  from  her  form,  and  stood  exposed  in  all 
her  pitiable  plight  before  the  pitiless  mob  that  had 
gathered  against  her. 

Instantly  there  came  a  chorus  of  wonderment  and  of 
repulsion,  with  which  a  weak  note  of  compassion  was 
mingled.  Charmides,  who  now  saw  her  face  for  the 


ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

first  time  since  the  morning  after  the  massacre,  started 
with  hoiror. 

"Behold,  the  mark  of  the  plague  is  upon  me. 
How  then  do  ye  call  me  servant  of  Namtar?"  she 
said. 

" Sorceress!  Beneath  the  veil  thou  hast  transformed 
thyself!  Take  thy  true  form!"  cried  Amraphel  from 
the  throng. 

At  this  accusation  a  howl  of  anger  suddenly  rolled 
over  the  childish  multitude.  At  last,  almost  by  acci 
dent,  they  had  been  successfully  roused  to  fury  against 
the  helpless  creature  before  them. 

"Thy  true  shape,  witch!" 

"Thy  true  shape!" 

"Fly,  if  thou  canst,  from  our  wrath!" 

"Pray  Namtar  to  save  thee  now!" 

And  then,  dropping  articulate  speech,  the  mob  pre 
pared  themselves  for  their  revenge  against  ihe  demon's 
minion. 

Drops  of  sweat  rolled  down  Istar's  face.  Faint  for 
food  and  greatly  suffering  from  weariness,  she  sway 
ed  where  she  stood.  Charmides,  overcoming  his  re 
pulsion,  remembering  her  as  she  had  once  been  in 
the  days  of  her  great  glory,  threw  his  arm  about  her 
and  supported  her. 

"Dogs!"  he  cried,  angrily,  "the  woman  is  weak 
and  sick  of  the  plague.  Will  ye  still  keep  her  from 
the  city  wherein  she  must  rest?" 

"Shall  we  admit  a  murderess  among  us?"  shouted 
one  of  the  Jews,  wrathfully. 

"Murderess?     What  creature  have  I  slain?" 

"Dost  thou  deny  the  murder  of  thy  husband,  Bel- 
shazzar,  on  the  night  of  the  feast?"  demanded  Am 
raphel  from  the  midst  of  the  throng. 

"  Belshazzar !  My  beloved ! — I  ?"  A  great  sob  burst 
from  the  lips  of  the  woman.  For  a  moment  she  could 
feel  again  about  her  the  dying  arms  of  him  whom  she 
had  loved  more  dearly  than  godhead.  The  tears  flow- 


AT    THE    GATE  489 

ed  fast  down  her  scarred  cheeks.  Before  the  wave  of 
grief  she  bent  her  head  low. 

"Behold,  she  confesses!  She  dares  not  deny!  Mur 
deress  !  Murderess ! ' ' 

The  voice  of  the  mob  grew  deafening;  and  now 
bricks  and  stones  came  forth  upon  her  in  a  shower. 
They  struck  her  in  many  places,  bruising  her  head, 
her  breast,  her  scantily  clothed  arms,  her  broken  body. 
Under  the  blows  she  cowered  like  a  wounded  animal, 
uttering  no  sound. 

"Istar,  Istar,  come  away  with  me!  Fly!  Here  is 
death  if  we  remain.  Come!" 

Charmides  seized  hold  of  her  while  the  missiles  were 
striking  them  both  in  great  numbers.  Then,  taking 
her  up  bodily,  the  Greek  turned  and  fled  rapidly  down 
the  hill-slope  in  the  direction  of  the  nearest  shelter,  a 
broad  palm -grove  upon  the  river -bank.  For  a  few 
moments  Istar  was  helpless ;  but  he  found,  to  his  im 
mense  relief,  that  they  were  not  pursued.  When  at  last 
they  were  beyond  danger  Istar  shuddered  and  cried  to 
be  put  down.  He  set  her  anxiously  upon  her  feet  and 
found  that  she  could  walk. 

"If  I  had  but  wine  to  give  thee!"  he  exclaimed,  as 
he  saw  her  weakness. 

"  Nay,  Charmides,  thou  hast  saved  and  greatly 
helped  me.  I  give  thee  blessing  from  the  heart.  And 
now  thou  must  leave  me,  that  1  may  go  alone  down  to 
the  river.  Fear  not.  None  will  accost  me.  1  am  well." 

The  Greek  would  have  protested  against  letting  her 
go,  but  that  he  had  an  unaccountable  feeling  that  a 
higher  force  than  hers  was  dominating  both  of  them. 
Therefore,  after  a  glance  into  her  uplifted  face,  he  fell 
upon  his  knees  before  her,  and  bent  his  head  before 
the  will  of  the  Almighty  that  was  over  them.  And 
there,  while  the  sunset  shed  its  light  around  them 
like  a  halo,  Istar  turned  away  and  went  forth  alone 
in  the  sunset  light,  to  the  grove  of  palms  upon  the 
bank  of  the  quietly  flowing  Euphrates. 


XXIII 
THE    SILVER    SKY 

NEVER,  in  all  the  days  of  Babylon,  had  there  been 
an  evening  more  fair  than  this.  At  sunset  the 
burning  day  melted  and  flowed  away,  down  the  west 
ern  sky,  in  a  flood  of  liquid  gold.  A  faint  breath 
of  air  came  over  the  river  from  across  the  distant 
Tigris,  out  of  the  cool  hills  of  Elam,  the  conquer 
or's  land.  On  the  river-bank  rose  the  palm-trees, 
casting  their  shadows  into  the  softly  slipping  water; 
and  the  turf  beneath  them  was  all  strewn  with  sunset 
gold.  To  the  north  lay  Babylon,  huge  and  black 
and  silent,  her  dying  thousands  shut  away  behind 
the  vastly  towering  walls.  To  the  west  and  south 
stretched  great  irrigated  fields  of  ripening  grain,  in 
the  midst  of  which  were  many  shadufs,  with  their 
patient  buffaloes  at  the  interminable  work  of  drawing 
water  from  the  clay  wells.  Still  farther  back  were 
the  crumbling  brick  huts  of  the  tillers  of  the  soil.  On 
the  edge  of  the  river  two  long-legged  cranes  stood 
quietly  meditating.  Overhead  a  flock  of  pelicans 
wound  their  slow  way  southward  towards  the  marshes 
where  they  dwelt.  From  the  far  distance  was  heard 
the  loud  cry  of  the  bittern.  Otherwise  the  land  was 
silent — wrapped  in  evening  prayer. 

Along  the  river-bank,  under  the  shadowy  palms, 
with  the  golden  light  glowing  about  her,  walked  Istar, 
musing  gently  upon  many  things.  Voices  from  the  in 
finite  addressed  her.  The  iron  was  leaving  her  soul. 
Her  mind  was  transfused  with  quietude.  She  ceased 


THE    SILVER    SKY  491 

to  notice  or  to  feel  the  aching  of  her  bruised  body. 
She  was  holding  communion  with  deeper  things,  and 
she  moved  with  her  head  bent  forward  and  her  eyes 
upon  the  ground.  Presently  she  paused  at  the  brink 
of  the  river — the  fair,  well  -  flowing  river,  that  held  in 
its  pure  depths  the  body  of  the  storm-eyed,  her  beloved. 
Its  flashing  waters  encompassed  her  with  glory.  Her 
mortal  eyes  grew  blind  with  light.  Presently,  out  of 
the  glowing  depth,  there  came  to  her,  as  once  before, 
a  voice — but  now  a  voice  most  familiar,  most  dear  to 
her  ears,  most  longed-for  since  its  silence.  Belshazzar 
spoke  from  the  beyond,  in  the  words  that  Allaraine 
had  written  on  the  temple  wall,  and  that  had  appeared 
to  her  again  from  the  river,  on  the  night  of  death : 

"  Hast  thou  found  man's  relation  to  God?  The 
silver  sky  waits  for  thy  soul." 

And  now  in  the  heart  of  the  woman  was  no  bitter 
ness,  no  rebellion,  only  knowledge  of  the  truth.  And, 
answering  the  question  of  the  Lord,  spoken  in  the 
voice  of  her  dead,  she  whispered,  softly: 

"Man  and  man,  as  man  and  God,  are  bound  by 
those  ties  of  eternal  love  that  made  the  covenant  of 
Creation.  Consciously  or  unconsciously,  all  living 
things  must  live  with  this  as  their  law,  for  they  are 
God's  children,  God's  brothers,  God  Himself  sent  forth 
to  wander  for  a  while  in  time,  but  in  the  end  return 
ing  to  their  eternal  source,  which  is  God. 

"All  the  sin,  all  the  sorrow  of  the  world,  I  have 
known,  have  suffered.  Yet  no  loss  nor  grief  can  take 
away  the  great  joy  of  love,  its  purity,  its  perfection. 

"I  acknowledge  the  wisdom  of  the  All-Father  dis 
played  in  His  creation.  Let  Him  do  with  me  as  He  will. " 

As  she  ceased  to  speak  a  blinding,  silver  stillness 
wrapped  her  about  and  held  her  immovable.  From 
its  depths  in  the  far-off  heavens  there  came  to  her 
ears  sounds  such  as  she  had  known  in  the  long-ago : 
the  song  of  the  infinite,  the  infinite,  unceasing  chorus, 
the  wind-choir  that  sings  the  Creator's  hymn. 


492  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

Still  she  could  see  the  green  fields  and  the  water, 
and  the  ferny  palms  above  her  head.  Still  she  be 
held  the  broad  river  running  full  of  pink  and  molten 
gold.  Still  the  breath  of  the  evening  wind  came  to 
her  lips.  The  world  was  all  about  her;  but  she  was 
no  longer  of  it  all. 

High  over  her  head,  in  the  unclouded  sky,  a  vast 
web  of  shimmering  silver  was  spreading  out  and  out, 
like  a  broad,  firmly  woven  veil.  It  scintillated  with 
dazzling  light  into  Istar's  upraised  and  half-blind 
eyes,  yet  it  struck  them  with  no  pain.  It  was  the 
silver  sky  of  Babylonish  dreams  opening  above  her, 
while  the  celestial  voices  sang  ever  more  softly,  but 
ever  more  beautifully,  the  pure,  swaying  harmonies 
of  the  great  hymn  of  freedom.  God's  presence  lived 
in  the  beauty  of  the  earthly  evening  scarcely  less  than 
in  the  splendor  of  thai  heavenly  one.  In  the  midst  of 
the  scene  of  supernatural  wonder,  Istar  sank  to  her 
knees,  and  there  remained  transfixed  before  the  mir 
acle  that  came  to  be  enacted  before  her. 

From  out  of  the  silver-spun  cloud  two  figures,  at 
first  merely  dense,  opaque  bodies  of  mist,  began  to 
descend  from  the  heights,  growing  gradually  more 
and  more  distinct  in  form  as  they  came,  leaving  be 
hind  them  a  silver  trail  that  moved  and  swayed,  fine 
and  threadlike,  in  the  air,  above  them.  As  they  ap 
proached  her,  Istar,  in  her  ecstasy,  quickly  recognized 
them  both;  the  one,  his  floating  locks  of  deepest  au 
burn  star-crowned,  his  trailing  garments  of  changing 
blue,  carrying  in  his  hand  the  sunset  lyre,  was  Alla- 
raine,  the  archetype  of  song.  The  second  was  more 
spiritual  still,  a  storm-eyed  being  with  thick,  black 
locks  uncrowned,  clothed  in  misty  white,  girdled  in 
silver,  bearing  in  his  hand  a  palm-branch  of  the  same 
shimmering  white  metal,  his  face,  hands,  and  feet 
showing  transparently  pure,  while  in  his  back,  upon 
the  left  side,  was  a  mark  of  brilliant  light,  glowing 
with  ruby  fire,  and  resembling  a  hallowed  wound — 


THE    SILVER    SKY  493 

the  releasing  dagger  -  stroke  that  had  freed  Belshaz- 
zar  from  Babylon — Belshazzar,  beloved  of  the  woman 
to  whom  he  came  again. 

Slowly,  slowly,  to  that  infinite,  sweet  chorus,  these 
two  descended  till  their  celestial  feet  touched  earth,  and 
I  star,  with  joyful  greeting,  rose  up  and  went  to  meet 
them.  As  she  held  forth  both  maimed,  mortal  hands, 
the  eyes  of  Allaraine  glowed  with  sorrow,  but  Belshaz- 
zar's  face  was  alight  with  the  fulness  of  great  joy. 

"  We  come  to  thee,  0  woman  honored  of  God ;  and 
thou  shalt  choose  between  us. 

"I,  Allaraine,  thy  brother,  would  lead  thee  back 
among  thy  fellows  in  thy  great  purification  to  the 
perfection  of  rest,  of  insensibility  to  all  creation  ex 
cept  God  and  His  word." 

"Istar,  beloved,  through  suffering  a  soul,  an  im 
mortal  soul,  hath  been  born  in  thee;  and  thou  mayst 
come  forth  now  to  rest  a  little  on  the  long  pilgrim 
age  that  will  lead  thee  finally  back  into  the  God 
whence  all  souls  are  sprung." 

"Choose,  Istar.     Choose." 

Istar  turned  her  eyes  to  Allaraine  and  looked  upon 
him  long  and  earnestly,  and  her  face  grew  radiant. 
Then,  most  slowly,  she  moved  her  gaze  till  it  met  with 
that  of  the  great  storm -orbs  of  Belshazzar.  And  in 
that  look  the  worn-out  body  dropped  from  off  her 
soul,  which,  clothed  in  garments  of  translucent  light, 
began  its  ascent  between  the  two  messengers  that 
had  come  for  her.  They  passed,  all  three,  above  the 
shadowy  turf,  above  the  line  of  waving  palms,  above 
the  glowing  river  which  ran  its  threadlike  course  from 
distant  Karchemish  into  the  sunset  gulf ;  above,  finally, 
the  towering  black  walls  of  the  Great  City,  and  so  into 
the  clouds  of  the  silver  sky,  to  which  no  mortal  eye 
may  follow  them. 

Through  this  last  hour  and  the  period  of  her  trans 
figuration,  Charmides,  still  standing  at  the  edge  of  the 


494  ISTAR    OF    BABYLON 

grove  of  palms,  had  watched  the  figure  of  Istar  upon 
the  river-bank.  Rejoicing  in  the  great  beauty  of  the 
evening,  he  waited  peacefully,  believing  her  wrapped 
in  prayer.  Nothing  saw  he  of  the  celestial  world  that 
had  opened  to  her,  nothing  knew  of  the  heavenly  mes 
sengers  that  had  come.  But  when  her  body  fell  back 
upon  the  earth,  he,  thinking  that  she  had  fainted  from 
exhaustion,  ran  quickly  to  the  spot  where  his  eyes  had 
last  beheld  her.  When  he  came  to  the  place  there  was 
nothing  there — no  trace  of  the  plague-marked  form  of 
her  that  had  dwelt  in  the  temple  of  Istar  in  the  Great 
City.  Long  he  searched  there  alone  in  the  evening, 
till,  out  of  the  far,  blue  space  a  voice,  the  voice  of  the 
woman  he  had  so  worshipped,  spoke  to  him: 

"Thou  faithful  and  true,  seek  for  me  no  more;  for 
that  of  me  which  was  not  is  not  now.  But  my  spirit 
shalt  thou  know  to  be  watching  near  thee  always. 
Behold,  I  am  returned  unto  our  Father/' 

So,  knowing  all  things  dumbly  in  his  heart,  the 
young  Greek  obeyed  her  voice,  and,  turning  slowly 
away,  went  forth  from  the  grove  of  palms,  and  re 
turned  that  night  alone  to  his  young  wife  in  Babylon. 


THE  END 


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